Entropy
by Elemental-Analysis
Summary: The Dark Side has won, and the remaining survivors are held captive at the Death Eaters' mercy.  Hermione is given as a prize to Lucius Malfoy, who is intent on using her to avenge the death of his son.  Angst, drama, and abuse. Complete.
1. Chosen

I don't own Harry Potter. I imagine I'll get over it someday. Maybe.

Summary: The Dark Side has won, and the remaining survivors are held captive at the Death Eater's mercy. Hermione is given as a reward to Lucius Malfoy. Angst, drama, torture probably, definite abuse.

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Hermione wasn't sure how long she'd been walking, but it sure felt like hours to her. She felt tired and hurt. The initial shock and thrilling fear she'd felt earlier had long since faded to a perpetual state of nauseating anxiety. She hissed in pain as she stumbled over another rock_._ Her trainers had suffered much over the past day, and a hole had worried its way through the rubber sole of her left shoe. She was fairly certain that her foot was oozing blood, but so much of her stung and ached at that point that she couldn't differentiate between the actual and radiated pain.

A particularly large tree root caused her to tumble forward in the dark. She tried to brace her fall against a tree, but hands tied as they were, she missed the trunk and ended her fall on her stomach, hands trapped under her body. Her groans were echoed by those tethered single file behind her, the domino effect causing more than a few to jerk and stumble, the rest to shuffle to a halt as she struggled to stand. A sharp tug on her rope dragged her hands up above her and brought her face-to-mask with a seething Death Eater.

"_Move_, you lazy Mudblood!" he hissed venomously, wand pointed at her. Hermione couldn't identify the voice; she was half-convinced that all Death Eaters used a voice-changing charm, or perhaps potion, when on the job. They certainly all sounded the same to her, at least.

She didn't bother to suppress a moan as she regained her own balance. The Death Eater released his hold on the smoky black bonds and stepped away, keeping his wand out and in front of him. He turned, and Hermione felt the pull of the magical force that had kept them walking these past long hours. She glanced behind her.

"Watch out for that root," she muttered quietly to Lavender, shrugging her aching arms.

The girl did not respond verbally, but Hermione could make out the silhouetted nod of acknowledgement in the dark. Hermione returned her attention to the ground in front of her and the Death Eater leading his string of seven captives.

Fallen branch there, rock here, pit there, vine above you, she thought as she navigated her way; a detached part of her mind wondered how the Death Eater could see well enough to not trip. Her mind, brilliant as it was, was too frazzled to postulate potential night-vision spells. She did manage, over a time, to conclude the fact that the bonds, or else some separate spell she had not been conscious to witness, were making her—making all of them—slow to think, slow to respond. She registered her frustration that she could not think nearly as quickly or clearly as she knew she could.

When the Death Eater came to a sudden halt, Hermione was so fixated on the ground that she almost ran right into him. Had it not been for Lavender tugging her backwards, she was sure she would've crashed headlong into the missionary of death. She shot a grateful look in Lavender's direction she was sure the girl wouldn't be able to see.

She glanced to her left; another Death Eater shadow had halted his line of seven as well. Hermione tried to see around her Death Eater and glimpsed a clearing beyond the next few trees of the Forbidden Forest. The moon grinned down at her like a Cheshire cat, thin and curved and promising no good. Her Death Eater called to the other, and, barking threats at the captives to not move lest they wanted to be killed slowly and horribly, left them to speak with his comrade.

"Lavender," Hermione whispered lowly, "are you okay? Well, not…okay…but...?" she trailed off. The other girl whimpered a general negative.

"Who's behind you?" asked Hermione.

"D-Dean," came the shaky whisper, "He's—he's hurt, I don't know how much longer…" and she trailed off, knowing Dean could hear her.

"H'mione, that you?" came a hoarse male voice.

"Shhh," Hermione whispered fervently; the Death Eater had issued a no-talking order at the start of their trek, and had been overenthusiastic at painfully reinforcing the rule. "Yes," she answers when all was quiet, "who's behind you?" A pause.

"Seamus, two Ravenclaw girls, and...and a Hufflepuff boy I don't know. First years, the girls. I dunno about the boy...small'r 'n us." Hermione heard pants in between every few words.

Hermione drew a breath, trying to force her mind to process the information and figure out how to use it. Lavender, as far as she was concerned, was about as useful as Trevor the Toad. Dean sounded more fit for a hospital bed than anything else, Seamus was…well, a good hand at lighting things on fire, but then none of them had _wands._

Hermione tried not to flinch as she remembered her own wand, lost in the heat of the…_Stop that._ Hermione chastised herself, agitated. _Wallowing in what was lost is useless right now. Think of something you can use, girl! _

But her brain simply would not compute. She spent the next thirty breathless seconds flashing through memories; red and green lights, billowing robes, laughter, screams, Ron, corpses, Moody's magical eye whirling about in its socket even as its owner lay dead, Harry yelling, a swarm of black cloaks and silver masks—

-Hermione was yanked from her daze by the familiar force, now pulling the line of them into the clearing. She felt sick to her stomach. They approached the two Death Eaters, and Hermione saw the other group of captives following suit. When she was again standing in front of her captor, Hermione dredged up a bit of courage that had all but drowned in the sea of overrun emotions. She licked her lips.

"Wh…What are we doing?" she directed this query in the direction of the mask. She couldn't see his face, but she imagined the loathing and disgust marring the man's features as he replied,

"You will _not _speak again, you insolent piece of filth, do you understand me? Or I'll cut your tongue out." He ended this with a slap to her face, adding a split lip and bruised cheek to her list of injuries. Hermione's head snapped to the side and she fumed with hatred, fighting down the surge of rebellious anger.

_You're pathetic, _she thought, _beating on tied up and defenseless captives to make yourself feel important._ She reigned in her tirade though, fairly certain that her body would not withstand punishment at the moment. Her head throbbed.

"Jugson, you will go first," the harsh voice brooked no quarrel. There was a pause, and then a _crack _louder than thunder resounded in the clearing, and then the other group of captives was gone. Mostly.

Hermione clamped a hand over her mouth to keep from screaming. Fingers, toes, feet, and hands littered the ground, and one dangerously spherical appendage rolled. Spurts of liquid gushed from severed arteries and oozed from torn veins, illuminated faintly in the slight moonlight. Hermione dry-heaved, gagging herself and earning a sharp tug on the rope. She winced, the bonds tightening unbearably.

_Apparition, _she thought frantically, hearing the cries of her classmates and the barking growl of the Death Eater. _You can't DO side-along apparition with more than two people, let alone eight! _She looked, horrified, up at her captor. The mask betrayed no emotion of course, but the man did not show body language of being disturbed or even slightly upset at the outcome in front of him. She opened her mouth to protest, to knock some sense into the man, to do _something, _when all of a sudden she felt the familiar, horrible squeeze and pull of apparition, and the fading sound of thunder in the distance.

She landed solidly on her abused knees. It was a harsh welcome back to reality, but at least she was _alive. _She was momentarily stunned from impacting the ground, but once the spots faded from her eyes and her mind cleared somewhat, Hermione realized with dizzying, real fright that her right hand was _gone. _Gone. The smoky black ring that had once encircled her wrist tightened now around her arm, restricting circulation in its effort to maintain its grip. Despite the intense pain, the inadvertent tourniquet stemmed the heavy flow of blood from her wrist.

She moaned, plagued by blinding pain. Seeing her arm-or what was left of it-made her vomit violently, and she tore her eyes away from the mess, concentrating intently on the ground before her for what felt like an eternity. The Death Eater was gone by the time she could dare look up from the ground, by the time the tearing pain had dulled to a deep and foreign thud that pounded her whole body.

She tried to push through the hazy film of shock as she peered apprehensively at her fellow captives. The lighting was much better here—wherever they were—but Hermione found herself wishing them back in the dark forest clearing.

She tried not to look at Seamus, whose body didn't have a head and had bled out. The corpse had fallen lifelessly to the side, covered in the vomit of at least one of the two Ravenclaw girls. They both sported missing fingers, and Hermione could guess missing toes. One of them had passed out, and the other was keeping her wits about her well enough to staunch the flow of blood with strips of cloth. She was shaking involuntarily and Hermione watched as she forced herself to stay conscious. Experimentally, she wiggled her own toes, relieved at feeling them all present. Dean seemed relatively intact, though he looked a mess otherwise, and Lavender….Lavender's lower torso was all that survived the splinching. Hermione shuddered, unwillingly picturing Lavender's upper half still in the clearing, still alive…

She supposed she was lucky the bonds had stopped her from bleeding out. Lucky. Ha. Lucky to be bound against her will, dragged unceremoniously through a dark forest, beaten and hit, and then lose a limb. Sure, she was lucky.

Her left hand massaged her stump. She watched as her Death Eater—her perfectly _whole _Death Eater, she noted angrily— returned and evaluated the survivors of the journey. He adjusted the restraints to release Lavender and Seamus. Hermione realized that their seventh captive, the Hufflepuff boy, had not made it at all.

_Good, _thought Hermione, _maybe he's on the other side and can escape now_.

Thoughts started to form even more slowly for Hermione after that, and she accepted the protective blanket of shock that enveloped her. She didn't pay attention to her surroundings, as she would have normally, and didn't resist as she was pulled along; her companions were equally as deathly quiet.

She didn't notice being filed in a room, and barely registered the high-pitched, cold voice that wrought so much fear and destruction upon her life. Sounds were muffled, like her ears had been popped on an airplane. She didn't register the hours of time the captives were left kneeling on the floor, the buzz of talk distant in her ears. She wondered dully if she was going to die now.

And then she was being moved, or black robes were moving toward her; she couldn't distinguish which. She was stopped, and the robes stopped. The last thing Hermione remembered as her vision tunneled was a pale face, gloved hands gripping her hair, glinting mercurial eyes, and long blonde hair…

"I choose the Mudblood girl."

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Consider me on a diet consisting solely of reviews. You don't want me to die, now, do you? Feed me! ^_^V


	2. Resistance

Woo! Chapitre Deux! Amen hallelujah. So pretty much this chapter starts with Hermione waking up from being passed out, and ends with her passing out again. It's apparently a convenient way to end a chapter ^_~ But we get to mee You-Know-Who! :D Well, errr, not _that_ You-Know-Who, who cares about old Moldy-snort, I mean Lucius Malfoy! Enjoy, children! (but not young children! this is rated M for a reason!)

And yeah, I still don't own. Trademark Inuyasha MEH.

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When Hermione awoke, the first thing she became aware of was a hard tile floor beneath her; it shone black in the reflection of a cold white light. The light made her eyes and head hurt, so she shut them purposefully closed. She listened hard; there was no noise apart from her own breathing, as far as she could tell. She felt the cold of the floor seeping into her aching body. The air lacked any pungent scent, just a faint odor of chemical.

She tried wiggling her toes and feet; nothing hurt so much that she thought something broken. Her legs next—a sharp pain indicated a deep gash on her left thigh. Then she shrugged her shoulders, arms, hands—her eyes flew open, pupils constricting. She stared. Her right hand was gone. She drew in a sharp breath, vividly remembering. Her hand was _gone_. She _knew _that. She'd already had that shock. _Take another breath, Hermione. Now another. Good. One more. Sit up. _Her vision swam as she obeyed that cool, logical part of her mind.

When her head cleared, she forced herself to look around. She was in…a bathroom? A black tub on silver feet stood before her, a matching black sink and toilet on the wall to the left of her. Hermione grabbed the lip of the sink with her hand and pulled herself to her feet. Her muscles groaned in protest. A mirror shone above the sink, reflecting the shadow of a girl with bedraggled hair and sunken eyes that had seen far too much. A colorful bruise blossomed across her cheek where the Death Eater had hit her last night. Hermione blinked. She looked _terrible. _

It probably should have occurred to her earlier, but she had no clue where she was. She tried to remember; thinking made her headache worse, but the glimpses of memory were worth it. A room, black robes, a high-pitched voice. Another, silky voice declaring…something, grey eyes, blonde—her eyes widened as she put it together. Lucius Malfoy. Was she in his manor? She glanced about the bathroom, as if suddenly expecting him to be there. He wasn't, and she let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding.

Letting go of the sink, tearing her eyes from her pitiful image, Hermione walked on shaky legs to the door. She reached out to touch the handle, and then retracted her arm as if wounded, staring confusedly at the stump. She began to feel nauseous as she stared at it, so she forcedly lowered it to her side with her left hand, and reached again for the door. Her left hand posed awkwardly on the door handle, and she wasn't very surprised to find the door locked from the outside. There were no windows.

Frustrated, she kicked the door, sending waves of pain up her leg. She looked down, reminded painfully of the gash she'd felt sting against the floor earlier. She sat and examined it now, gauchely holding the top of her leg with her stump and pulling the flesh of her outer thigh up slightly with her left hand. The cut was longer than it was deep, but it was far from shallow. It was half scabbed over. It was covered in dirt and grime, from her trek in the forest, she rationalized. Grimly she groped around for a washcloth. She stood and wet it with the tap, then sat rather heavily down again. She noted she was feeling a bit light-headed. Blood loss and exhaustion, she reasoned.

Gripping the cloth, she began at the bottom of the cut, pressing down on the wound and dragging the cloth up. It _hurt. _She bit back an exclamation of pain, tears prickling her eyes. _Come on now Hermione. You can do this. You _must _do this. _ She stuffed another washcloth in her mouth pressed against the cut with a clean part of the wet cloth. _You cry you die, Hermione, now do it! _She knew this was a little exaggerated, but with renewed determination and a repeated chant, she ground her teeth together as she ground the rough washcloth into her leg. It began to bleed freely again, but the caked on dirt was coming off. By the time she was finished, her cheeks were wet with tears but her wound was, in the crudest way, cleaned. She tossed the rag up into the sink.

She spat the other washcloth out of her mouth, dabbing a dry end around the wound. Looking around, she realized there were no more cloths, so she pressed the one in her hand to her leg. Shrugging off her robe, she held the black cloth to the ground with her stump, pulling a frayed edge off in a strip. She tore another strip similarly. With some struggle, she managed to wrap the pieces around her thigh and tie them securely.

She rinsed the bloodier, dirtier washcloth in the sink, noticing the dull pain in her left foot. She lifted her leg, twisting her foot up and seeing on the bottom of her foot a small bloody circle. _From where my shoe wore through. My shoes—where are they?_ She had only just realized she was barefoot. She glared at herself in the mirror. How could she not notice something so obvious? She kept missing important information. _Get it together, Hermione! _ Wringing out the washcloth with vigor, she decided that her foot did not need the same attention as her thigh. The rest of her, however…needed desperately to be cleaned.

She didn't dare use the tub; though the door was locked to _her, _there was no telling when someone could walk in from the outside. _Someone like Lucius_, her mind supplied. She shuddered at the thought. Taking the washcloth, she ran it roughly over her arms, wiping away layers of grime, wincing at the tiny cuts and bruises that marred her skin. She did the same to her legs, up to her shorts, avoiding her makeshift wound dressing. She scrubbed her face and neck next, then looked in the mirror. She still felt dirty, but it wasn't the kind that could be washed off.

Exhausted, she sat down against the wall. With no other wounds to occupy herself with tending, her mind let the knot of worry in the pit of her stomach grow. Why was she here? Why was she not dead? Where were the others? Who…who was alive? Her stomach lurched as she realized she didn't know the answers. It was like not knowing the answer to one of Snape's potions questions; absolutely terrifying, with horrible consequences. But much, much worse. She leaned over the toilet and heaved. Nothing came up. _Calm _down! Her mind ordered. She took a deep breath and choked. She tried again, and again, until she could breathe again. She focused on breathing for a long time. Breathing and counting, a stress exercise she had used during the flurry of final examinations.

One hundred and fifty counts of ten later—approximately twenty-five minutes, she thought—Hermione was finally calm enough to realize she was getting bored. She rummaged around robes pockets, hand freezing over a piece of parchment. She had forgotten. Fingers trembling, she withdrew the tiny scrap, unfolding it gently.

_Hermione,_

_ If you're reading this, you know I haven't survived the battle…Hermione, I'm so sorry I didn't make it. I want you to know…I love you. You're the one, you've always been the one for me. But you need to move on now. Live your life with that brilliance and courage you are so filled with._

_Yours Always,_

_Ron._

Tears tracked down Hermione's face. Ron had given this to her before the battle with a solemn warning to not open it unless he died. It had been their most somber conversation to date, and she remembered it with fresh tears. She batted them away fiercely, refolding the note. The logical part of her brain realized the note was dangerous leverage to whoever held her captive. The emotional part realized it was too precious to destroy. Her last connection to her past love. She shut her eyes, refusing to think of the battle, refusing to remember witnessing Ron's death, the flames, his cries of agony—she blithely squashed those thoughts.

Reaching up under her T-shirt, under her bra, she worked the supporting wire against the fabric. Several minutes of this yielded a small hole in the fabric. She could feel the lactic acid building up in her arm muscles, but pressed on until the hole was big enough to just barely slip the paper in. Finished, she shook out her arm and grinned slightly in her success. Her greatest treasure well hidden, close to her heart. Literally.

Hermione shifted uncomfortably on the floor; cold tile was far from cozy, and she was growing stiff and sore. How she wished for Madam Pomfrey's brisk touch, cooling healing. A hospital bed. Her own bed. Her things. Her _friends_. A noise on the other side of the door halted her reverie. She shot up from her sitting position, heart racing. Her blood thrummed with adrenaline, and she felt her breath quicken. A muttered word, a soft click, and the door swung open.

Lucius Malfoy glared at her in what she could fathom was absolute loathing and disgust. He looked down at her with narrowed slate grey eyes. She steeled herself, chastising the part of her that wanted to crumble under his gaze. Lucius spoke first.

"Mudblood," he said in greeting, looking as though he had encountered a pile of vomit. Hermione clenched her hands into fists.

"_Hermione." _She corrected through gritted teeth. She felt a sharp stinging across her cheek, though Lucius had not moved an inch.

"You will not _speak _unless given express permission to do so," Malfoy hissed in barely controlled anger. He continued, "As you were… _lucky …_enough to pass out in the Dark Lord's presence, I will explain to once and only once. You belong to me. Your worthless, disgusting being will live, suffer, and die by my command. You will pay for your sins, and the offense against my family," He said this last with extra vehemence.

Hermione was confused—offense against his family? Sins?—and enraged. Just who did he think he was, he had no _right _to – to _claim _her as his! It was illegal! Her mind was frantic; Malfoy did not look at all like he was joking, and for one of the very few times in her life Hermione was at a loss for words. There were just too many questions, too many thoughts in her head to put one in front of the other.

Lucius smirked at her obvious incapability to think. He approached, stopping a foot away from her. Hermione took an involuntary step back, but he caught her left wrist, giving her a disgusted look.

"You are revolting," he hissed, throwing her arm down. Hermione attempted to step away again, but he snarled at her. "Do not move!" She stopped in real fear of the man before her, hugging herself.

She watched as he withdrew a flat, black object the size and color of a Muggle hockey puck. She eyed it as he levitated it before him.

"_Thermus maximum," _he whispered. The object glowed bright red, and Hermione's quick mind registered in fear the backwards letters L.M. glowing before her. She screamed, and clambered away, trying to get around him. With a growl from Malfoy she was frozen in place. She watched in horror as he brought the glowing steel closer to her, his eyes glinting in unmasked satisfaction. A burning pain erupted on her right forearm, blindingly hot. She screamed. The scent of burning flesh reached her nose, and dredged up unwanted memories she had tried so hard to suppress. A red-headed boy, hair blending in with the flames, eyes burning into hers. His mouth open, screaming, as she was, before they rolled backwards into his head. Ron collapsed, twitching as the flames consumed his body. A cold, harsh laugh from the caster of flames; Hermione could not see through the fire who it was.

And then she was back, back on the cold tile floor, staring up at Lucius Malfoy. Her arm throbbed, pulsing blood and heat. She turned her head away from her captor, looking at her right forearm. She couldn't make out the letters, but her skin had blistered and broken and reblistered again. Blood and clear liquid oozed from the mark. Her entire arm was reddened. She looked away, feeling sick. She realized the body bind had lifted, and she used her left hand to push herself up into a sitting position, scooting away from Malfoy.

He was watching her. Hermione shivered, but returned his gaze determinedly. He lifted an eyebrow at her in vague amusement, but the look of disgust never left his face.

"As I said," he whispered, "You are _mine, _and you will _pay _for what you took from me_._" Hermione's jaw trembled.

"What did I –" another slap resounded across her abused face, and she gasped, seeing spots. Her head snapped back toward him, eyes full of mixed fear and loathing.

"_What did I say?" _Lucius demaded in cold hatred. Hermione opened her mouth to snap back at him, then shut it. Lucius sneered at her.

"And they say you were the brightest witch of your age." Hermione's lips thinned. _Be silent, be silent, be silent! _She yelled the chant in her head. _Maybe he'll go away._

But Lucius didn't go away. He seemed to have other plans. He stood over her, and with a flick of his wand, Hermione was dragged forward, landing on her knees before him. Her left hand was forced palm-down to the ground, and her stump, which she had been previously cradling to her chest, was also slammed into the tile. She couldn't ignore the searing pain that ran up her arm in waves, and gasped aloud. She could practically _hear _Malfoy smirking. She stared at the floor. Her heart thudded. _Now what?_

"This," said Malfoy silkily, "is your rightful place. At my feet, you filthy Mudblood." Hermione tensed but said nothing, boring a hole in the floor with her eyes. "You are unfit to breath in my presence, _Mudblood,_ and should be so lucky to kneel before me." He stressed the expletive to insult and aggravate her, she knew, and she exhaled forcefully, willing her anger to exit with her breath.

"_Thank _me, Mudblood," he whispered. "Tell me how _grateful _you are to me for letting you live, even though you are a disgusting, filthy, Muggle-born witch."

Hermione clenched her teeth. "Never," she whispered harshly, hate dripping in her voice. She expected another slap. What she got was a slash of pain across her back. She gasped first in surprise, then in agony as the pain set in. She kneeled there before him, panting. When her ears stopped ringing, she chanced a look up at him. He was glowering. She didn't trust herself to speak. When she didn't say anything, didn't break eye contact, he growled lowly,

"You have one more chance," he bit out slowly. She said nothing. Another slash whipped across her back. This time she cried out, tears springing to her eyes. Another hit, and then a fourth. Tears came freely now, screams tore from her throat and her chest heaved as she choked out her pain. Lucius crouched down to her, and she found herself staring at his chest.

"Well?" he said in a deathly whisper. She cringed, but held her ground.

"No," her voice was barely audible. With a snarl Lucius rose to his feet. Suddenly she was flying, crashing solidly into the tub, landing awkwardly on her left wrist. She heard a crack and felt a little bubble of pain burst in her wrist. She yelled, the sharpness of the pain matching the agony her abused back felt crashing into the marble tub. She huddled on the white bath mat, curling into a ball. She hurt _so _much. She was shaking.

"Have you yet had enough?" came that horrid cold voice. "Because I have only just started with you. We could do this for hours." Hermione shuddered particularly hard, knowing with sickening dread that he meant it. "Or…I could make it all stop…for now," he sneered. "You know what you have to do."

Hermione whimpered in pain and humiliation, tears soaking into the rug. Lucius raised his wand, and Hermione violently jerked, shaking her head.

"No," she croaked out desperately. Malfoy raised an eyebrow. He knew he had won. "No, please…no…I…I.."

"Yes?" encouraged Malfoy, sadistic enjoyment lacing his voice and glinting in his eyes. Hermione looked away miserably, heart aching with the blow to her Gryffindor pride.

"I…th-thank you…." She almost gagged on the words, "f-for letting me live." There, she had said it. She had said it, now please please _please _let him just leave.

"…And?" That cold, hateful voice echoed in her ears. Her mind panicked. _And? And what? _ Hadn't she said it? Done what he'd wanted? She racked her brain, trying to think. _Oh _no, she thought, stomach dropping, _no he can't want me to…I can't…_ She looked up at him and realized that he did. And that he was perfectly willing to punish her more if she didn't. Her swallow got stuck in her throat; her mouth was so dry.

"A-and…I…I'm a—a M-Mudblood," it all but killed her to say it, and he smirked his satisfaction.

"Good girl," he said, sarcasm dripping venomously from his voice. She watched as he turned, robes billowing about him, and strode out of the bathroom. The door locked behind him with a resounding _click_.

She let out a choked sob. She couldn't stop her body from shaking. She _hated _him, hated herself. How could it have come to this? Ron's words rung mockingly in her ears _Live with that brilliance and courage you are so filled with…_ She could have laughed, but only cried harder. She had an amazing surplus of tears, she thought distantly.

For a long while she stayed like that, curled up on the stark white bath mat, cradling both arms to her chest. She recognized that her burn needed to be soothed, her wrist set with something. When her tears subsided, she dragged herself up unwillingly. She was exhausted. There was only the one dirty washcloth left to her, and the remains of her school robe. She wondered sickeningly how she could tear up more of her robe with her one working wrist in so much pain. It wasn't like it was easy to rip or anything.

She decided to use the most readily available remedy; she ran blissfully cold water over her burned forearm, hissing at the contrast between blazing hot and icily cold. She forced herself to hold her arm under the water for what seemed like forever. It was still pulsing when she withdrew it. She had decided that the water wasn't cold enough to numb the pain in her left hand, but she had resolutely held that limb above her head while bathing her right arm, and blood had not pooled or clotted in the broken wrist.

Well, she couldn't keep it up there forever, she thought. _Okay. Let's do this_. She knelt on the remains of her robe. Her fingers were not strong enough to even grip the fabric. She placed the robe over the sharp edge of one of the clawed bathtub feet, holding it down with her stump and ripping in the opposite direction with her teeth. It hurt her teeth, and she could imagine her parents cringing at her actions, but it had to be done. With enough tugging, the claw pierced the cloth and the robe ripped. She managed to rip herself a long strip.

Panting her triumph, she wrapped the cloth awkwardly around her wrist using her teeth and her stump, wrapping as tightly as possible. When she finally finished, she was positively spent. Her back would have to wait for later. She didn't have the energy to stand for another cold-water bath for her arm. Leaning her sweaty forehead against the marble tub, Hermione allowed herself finally to shut her eyes. She was asleep in seconds.

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	3. Reward

'Ello dears! Wishing you well, as always ^_^ I'm a bit nervous about this chapter because it took a turn I didn't expect really. But oh well. Let me know how it came out!

Disclaimer: Not mine. -sulks in corner-

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There wasn't much to do in a bathroom, really, Hermione thought, picking a thread out the corner of the bath mat with her toes. It was impossible to tell how long she'd been there, but she knew she was damn hungry. She'd been awake long enough to nurse her wounded pride somewhat, and it comforted her pettily to know that she'd yielded to his demands only under painful duress. Which reminded her.

Her physical wounds took far more nursing than her pride, to her misfortune. Her right forearm, which she currently held under cold water in the tub she'd filled, was a raw, bright pinkish red, though the last of the blisters were fading. From what she knew of burns, which to her dismay was pitifully little, she guessed it went as deep as her dermis layer of skin. Not the worst kind of burn, but not the best either. She lifted her arm out of the water. L.M. stood out in the brightest red, and it made her sick. She diverted her eyes, but they landed on her stump. With a huff she plunged the battered limb back under the water.

When she'd first awoken, she had spent a long time twisting and turning uncomfortably in front of the mirror in her bra and shorts, trying to get a look at her back. Four scabbed welts and a long blackish bruise under her shoulder blades, in the shape of the tub lip. Beautiful, she'd thought sarcastically. But it seemed to be healing well enough on its own, and she replaced her shirt. It made leaning against anything a damned nuisance though. A painful nuisance at that.

She didn't think about her left wrist. She just didn't. It pulsed every now and again with internal blood flow, but that's all she allowed herself to think about. She couldn't feel her fingers.

Hermione's stomach rumbled, voicing its opinion of her forced fast. She glared down at it in reproach.

"What do you want _me _to do about it?" she asked irritably. She got another dissatisfied growl in response. She sighed. Her belly was overfull of water she'd ingested in an attempt to assuage her hunger, but all it did was make her hurt.

She'd tried to keep herself busy in the last many hours. She'd tried the doorhandle again, to no avail, and the door lacked the Muggle bolts that could be slid out of the hinges. She'd considered carefully apparating herself out, though she was understandably wary of doing so. The thought made her head throb and her stomach churn. Steeling nerve after nerve, she'd eventually attempted it, but the moment the pressure started to squeeze her chest she'd felt an explosion of pain, as though she'd been stupefied momentarily, and she was thrown to the floor. And hard, she remembered. She concluded an anti-apparition jinx was in place.

She'd considered fleetingly a portkey, but with no wand—and no wand _hand, _she thought grimly, there was no way to cast the _Portus _incantation on anything. She tried not to think about never doing magic again. It was another one of her taboo topics. She supposed learning with the less dominant hand _was _possible, but she doubted she'd ever be as strong. If she ever got a wand back. She missed the feel of it, the smooth vine wood polish that warmed in her hands to the touch.

She started alphabetically listing all the magical creatures she knew of to keep herself busy, starting with Acromantula. She'd worked her way up to Glumbumble when she heard a noise outside the door. She didn't know if she should be frightened out of her wits or relieved at the prospect of food and human interaction, but adrenaline wasn't picky and she found herself jumping up from her standing position, shifting nervously from foot to foot. She rotated her shoulders and arms in an attempt to dispel the nervous ache the neurotransmitter caused her.

A familiar muttered word and a _click _and the door swung open, revealing her least favorite blonde. He sneered down at her but she held her gaze steady. To her suspicion, he looked…expecting?

"Where do you belong, Mudblood?" he asked of her quietly, coldly. His eyes were hardened mercury. Her mind, unfocused from hunger, noted briefly that mercury froze at -38.8 degrees Celsius. Her eyes registered brief confusion, and then absolute fury. No way was she kneeling before this evil son-of-a-gun today. She took a deep breath.

"I'm hungry," she stated in forced calm. The survival instinct in her ran screaming in circles around her mind. She ignored it and set her jaw against the pain she expected to feel. Indeed, he seemed angered, but in a quieter, more malicious way today. Her heart hammered.

"So, you still have not learned, filth," he said, still in that quiet, calm voice. Then in a blurred motion she almost didn't see, his wand was out and a spell was cast, and she was spun about, bent double over the tub. She could hardly think as her knees hit the ground and her head plunged under the icy water of the tub. _Stupid, stupid stupid of you to leave it filled! _her hindsight yelled at her vehemently. She pushed the edges of the tub with the sides of her forearms, trying to push herself out. It was no use, she couldn't get up, and she failed her body helplessly. She was going to die. Her lungs were burning for air. Her mind swam, overrun with unalleviated adrenaline. She pounded the side of the tub with her stump. She inhaled water. Her vision was darkening.

And she was out. On the floor desperately coughing up water and stomach bile, blissfully breathing in wonderfully cold air. She braced herself on her knees and stump, heaving. When her vision no longer involved black spots, she raised her head to him.

"This is where you belong," he told her snidely, "At my feet." His voice lacked emotion. She glared at him hatefully, water dripping down her face.

"Fuck you, Malfoy."

With a flick of his wand, her left hand twisted upwards and slammed down into the tile. The _click _of the door shutting was drowned in her screams.

* * *

When she next heard the noise outside the door she drained the tub. He reappeared, looking expectantly down at her again. She glared but said nothing, ignoring the cries of her stomach for her pride. The visit ended with a whipped back, and her kneeling and crying at his feet. He'd said nothing but a repeat of his first inquiry the whole time. He did not come back for a day and a half.

The third time he came back, she was so hungry and bruised and hurt that she abandoned her Gryffindor pride. She did not meet his eyes.

"Where do you belong, Mudblood?" he inquired, clearly enjoying his position of power and the prospect of abusing if not controlling her. She hesitated a moment, allowing her sacrifice of pride to bring a lancing pain through her chest, then slowly, so _so _slowly, she lowered herself to her knees on the bathmat. She couldn't look at him. Her face felt hot as she put her stump against the floor, cradling her wrist to her chest. She stared determinedly at a fixed point on the floor, hoping only that her sacrifice would bring food and clear her dizzied head.

"Good girl." She could hear the smirk in his voice. She didn't look at him, but felt hot tears prickling in her eyes. She waited, completely uncertain, half-convinced he would just leave her again. He didn't.

"Stand," was his next command. She stood slowly, wavering on her feet. The room spun, but she tried to focus on his figure. She leaned against the sink for support. When she was at last steady, he turned to leave. Fear surged momentarily through her as her prospect of food flickered out of sight.

"Come." The word as much relieved her fears as brought new ones. Leave? The bathroom? Her mind churned in agoraphobic fear, and she physically did not think she had the energy to go _anywhere_. She balked at the command. He did not fail to notice.

"If you so want food, you _will _follow me," he said sternly. The tension in the air constricted her chest and made it difficult to breath. _Breathe, you silly thing, _she told herself, _breathe, walk, food, in that order. _She breathed, then, lunging herself forward, she made it to the doorframe, leaning heavily against it. She inhaled deeply again to clear her vision. Hunger was awful, she decided with conviction. She looked up to find her captor waiting at a door on the opposite side of a room. She glanced around her.

It was a very large room, a bedroom, with a four-poster king-size canopy bed, complete with a dark green duvet. The green pillows were etched with silver stitching. The rug brushing the tips of her toes was a similar deep forest green color. A tall, deep mahogany dresser stood against one wall with a longer, shorter dresser opposite it, matching in color. There was a window on the wall directly in front of her. She blinked. Daylight. It was daytime. Late daytime. It was sunny. Why was it sunny? Her mind was bleary with the thought. It was supposed to be dark and gloomy outside. The Dark had won. Where was the pathetic fallacy she justly deserved? Nature should be as miserable as she.

"Mudblood," Malfoy's voice intoned his waning patience.

She didn't know quite how she managed to stumble across that vast expanse of room, and beyond that door saw with misery a hallway with a winding staircase to her left. She all but fell down the stairs, bracing herself as best she could against the gold-plated wrought railings. She followed her captor across a dizzying black-and-white tiled floor, all the way to a plain oak door.

"The kitchens. Inside you will find the house elf," he told her stiffly. Hermione could imagine that he was loath to provide her with sustenance. Well, she couldn't care more about a pile of horse dung what he thought. She wanted _food. _

"You have thirty minutes," and he left.

The thought of running to find a front door crossed Hermione's mind, but she knew she was in no condition to do so. _Get better first, then escape, _she told herself grimly. She pushed open the heavy oak door and was immediately greeted by a house-elf.

"Hello mistress!" he squealed in elfish excitement, "I's is Smidgey, miss!" He rocked on his heels. "Can Smidgey get mistress something to eat?" Hermione nodded tiredly, sinking down to the floor, ignoring the elf's exclamations. With a snap of his fingers she found herself at the small table and even smaller stool in the corner of the kitchen. Smidgey's dining place, she realized. She looked at the elf gratefully.

"Just…just bring me…whatever's fit for someone starved for days," she told him. She hoped the elf had the sense of mind to realize she probably couldn't keep solid food down. To her relief she was brought a light broth with a few vegetables and bits of chicken. She realized she couldn't use the spoon given her, and she sat dumbly for a moment. Her right hand was nonexistent, and her left out of service and clumsy besides. She nodded her thanks to the elf, who left, and then awkwardly tried to pick up the bowl with her stump and left forearm. It dropped with a clatter and a splash. Hermione looked about to cry as her food absorbed into the table. A _crack_ and the elf reappeared at her side. He nimbly set a fresh bowl of soup in front of her.

"Smidgey is sorries, miss, Smidgey did not know mistress could not use her hands!" The elf fretted. "Please do not punish Smidgey! Please do not tells Master Malfoy!" His already wide eyes threatened to pop from his head.

"If you won't tell him, I won't, Smidgey," she replied, picturing Malfoy all too easily making fun of her. "And of course I won't punish you! You did nothing wrong," she added, and much to her relief Smidgey calmed down, praising her kindness. The elf hesitated, then said,

"Smidgey could help mistress eat, if mistress wanted."

"That would be immensely helpful, Smidgey," Hermione replied. _It's a house elf! _She seethed to her pride, _He won't care that you are weak and helpless!_

So with Smidgey holding the spoon with deft hands, Hermione ate her first meal in days.

When she could eat no more, she shook her head at the house elf's proffered spoon. Smidgey looked disappointed.

"Mistress has only eaten half of her soup!" he protested.

"I just don't think it would stay down if I tried to eat anymore, Smidgey, I'm sorry." She hesitated, "You don't think you could get me anything I could take with me, do you?" she asked. The elf shifted nervously from foot to foot, clearly distressed, washing his left hand in the palm of his right.

"Master Malfoy did not tell Smidgey he was allowed to," the elf said anxiously, "Smidgey does not want to disobey Master Malfoy, miss. Smidgey is sorry!" He looked at her earnestly. Hermione sighed.

"That's alright, Smidgey, I understand….I'm beginning to not want to disobey either," she said this last under her breath, more to herself.

"You don't have any bandages do you?" she tried again. If only she could get a decent bandage on her wrist! And if she could get the house-elf to help apply it—

"Master Malfoy did not—"the elf began again,

"—say you were allowed to, I know," finished Hermione with a sigh. "It's okay Smidgey. Thank-you." The elf nodded and stayed staring at her. "I…er…if you have somewhere you need to be, you can go," she told him. The elf gave a quick nod and disappeared with a _crack_.

Hermione had wondered how long it had been since Malfoy had left her, and she wondered if she was supposed to wait here or find her way back to her bathroom. The thought made her stomach twist slightly. It would be just like Malfoy, wouldn't it, to not tell her to be back in her cell by the end of the time limit, and then punish her for it. Call her paranoid, but the more she thought about it the more her stomach twisted. Finally, for better or worse, she pushed herself up from the tiny table and made her way to the door.

She was much less dizzy, she noted with relief. She was surprised broth could do so much, though it crossed her mind that Smidgey had probably put as much nourishment as he could into the soup. For that she was grateful.

She opened the oak door, pushing down on the latch awkwardly with the side of her left arm and linking her stump through the curved handle to pull. The hall was empty. The tiles shone black and white in the light of the chandelier. The windows were dark.

The thought occurred to her—_Could I escape?_ Could it really be that easy? Malfoy was nowhere in sight, there was nothing standing between her and finding an exit. From her vantage, she could see no door to the outside, but that didn't mean there wasn't one around the corner. Gritting her teeth, she made to step out of the doorway.

A searing pain erupted over her burn mark and she yelped at the unexpected throbbing as it spread up her arm and into her chest. She was going to have a heart attack! She stepped back unconsciously. As soon as she was within the doorway, the pain vanished. She looked a bit dazedly at her arm. It looked about the same, the mark of L.M. a bit pink yet and tender; no different than it had an hour before. She brushed her fingers against it. It was hot to the touch. Well, _that _was different, she thought.

"Going somewhere, Mudblood?" a voice drawled conversationally. Hermione whirled in place to see Malfoy strolling toward her. He stopped a few feet away to lean against the wall. He looked slightly amused.

_Why yes, I'm going to stroll right out of this manor, you sick pig, thanks for asking, _Hermione thought. Outwardly, she said nothing. He _knew_, he must, what she'd felt only moments before. She did not stop herself from glaring menacingly at him.

Malfoy straightened suddenly, his demeanor immediately icy. He stared angrily down at her.

"Where do you belong, Mudblood?" he asked frostily.

_Oh no, not this again, _Hermione thought. If the situation were at all funny she'd have thought he was rather like a broken record. But the situation wasn't funny, and she thought him a horrid sadist of a captor.

She had two options; one, defy him now for immediate self-gratification followed by immediate, worse punishment; or two, play his silly little game and maybe get some answers to her litany of questions. Battling with her pride to go with the former of the ideas, she knelt to the floor, hating him. Her knees rested on the raised plank of wood that separated the kitchen from the outside. Without thinking, she rested the upper half of her body on her stump…and her left hand.

Crying out, and cursing herself inwardly for forgetting, she snaked her hand back to her chest, pressing it against her sternum. She rocked slightly as her wrist shot loops of pain up to her elbow. She didn't look at Malfoy, hating herself for the situation she was in, but hating him more. Malfoy didn't say anything for a long moment, but then Hermione heard a swish of his robes as he turned.

"Come." _Like a dog, _she thought. But she rose anyway, hanging back uncertainly in the doorway. What if her arm lit up like a firework again? She was not going to risk that again, no way in-

"The mark on your arm is more than a brand of ownership. It tells me where exactly you are at any moment, and if you have permission to be there. I decide the punishment for being out-of-bounds. At the moment, you have permission to follow. You will not be harmed." His tone was dismissive.

Hermione stared at his retreated back. It was the most he'd said to her since she got there. She took a tentative step forward, and when nothing happened, exhaled and walked quickly to catch up to him.

He didn't say a word to her after. They reached the door to the bedroom—his bedroom? without mishap. He stood next to the door—almost gentlemanly—as she entered the room first. She maneuvered uncertainly about the room, taking in things she didn't notice before—an empty grate fireplace, a plush recliner that matched the color of his furnishings. A bookcase against one wall. The bookcase obviously caught her attention, and she squinted to read the titles. She was through the bathroom door before she could make out a word. She turned back around in her bathroom, facing Malfoy, still keeping her hand to her chest. He was looking at her. He looked…indecisive?

Then, to her horror and fear, he approached. _Now what?_ Her heart thumped. He stopped a foot away from her. She stepped back instinctively, calves banging into the tub. He motioned for her to sit on the closed seat of the toilet, and cautiously, she complied, watching him warily for sudden movements. But when he gestured for her to extend her left arm, she recoiled. With a growl he reached out and grabbed her elbow, forcing her arm to extend toward him. She cringed as she caved to his superior strength. He still had not said a word to her.

Hermione tried to pull against him when he withdrew his wand, but the pain it created in her wrist stopped her. She watched him. He placed the tip of his wand against her wrist, and with a murmur she felt cooling waves of relief. She felt a shift in her wrist as the bones reset, and then he released her, straightening. She rotated her wrist experimentally; she felt no pain. She looked up at him, eyes questioning. He turned to leave.

"Wait!" He paused at the door. His head turned slightly. When she didn't receive the lashing she expected, she pressed on.

"I.." her voice cracked from disuse and nerves, "I have questions." She didn't dare say anything beyond that, but she needed answers, dammit! She watched as he turned to fully face her, and she met his eyes. To her surprise, he replied,

"You may ask…_one._" She took a deep breath, recognizing an opportunity when she saw it. What should she ask? What did she dare ask? 'Why was she here' sounded like a good start. What happened to Harry? She could probably fill in the blank for that one. Where were her friends? Who was alive still? What was going to happen to her?

"Where's Draco?" she blurted, surprised with herself. She had not wanted to ask that question, really. To her confusion, Malfoy's face clouded over with anger and grief. He glared at her as he seethed.

"You will _not _mention my son to me ever again, or I will punish you until you are _begging _for death," he bit out harshly. Hermione was taken aback. He was breathing rather heavily as he continued, "My son is _dead _because of you!" he hissed, "You and your _pathetic _excuse for a rebellion against the Dark Lord!" He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, struggling with himself. Clearly, he was frustrated for losing control. Hermione watched, eyes wide. His nostrils flared. "You disgusting, filthy Mudblood, how could something like _you _bring down someone of such noble blood?" Hermione wasn't sure if he was talking directly to her anymore. There was a pregnant pause, and Hermione could feel the tension growing. When he finally opened his eyes, and they were lit with the cool maliciousness they always held.

"I didn't—" Hermione started but was cut off.

"You will not speak," he hissed at her, looking dangerous. She shut up. Malfoy turned back around, halting for a moment at the door.

"You should know…with that mark, you cannot go _anywhere,_" he paused for effect, "in the world…without my knowing." And he left her desolate with a new meaning of the word "trapped."

* * *

I think, at this point, some of you hate me. I understand. Why did he heal her? I'll bet you're wondering. I am too. I'll come up with a good excuse, I promise ^_~ In all honesty I healed her because when I first wrote the eating scene I almost laughed when I realized she couldn't use either of her limbs. That made for a strange re-writing. If she's ever to eat again, I thought, she needs to be healed.

Up next: a little bit of Lucius POV, a bit of background explained, and, need I say it? Angst on Hermione's part.

Chemically yours,

Elemental-Analysis


	4. A Bit of Lucius, A Bit of Hermione

Hello dearest readers! I hope you like the chapter-as usual, I'm nervous, this time because I've finally come up with a vague plot idea and I don't know how well it will be accepted XD This is more or less a necessary filler chapter, but it's filled with Lucius and Hermione and angst. And, of course, my love. Next chapter will be more important plot-wise. At least that's the plan.

Shout-out thank you to **a.p.k.** for bringing up the fact that using the toilet with no hands would probably be as hard as eating with no hands-I tried to address it a bit.

* * *

When Lucius left the bathroom, he could hear nothing on the opposite side of the door. He smirked slightly; he'd probably left her a lot to ponder. Then he frowned. He should not have lost control like that. There was no way a chit like that should get to him so easily. He rubbed his temples with his fingers. He must be tired.

That was the second time he had lost control around her. The first time had been physical; he had actually _touched _the Mudblood. He replayed branding her in his mind; reaching out, grabbing her. Touching her. He could have so easily magically frozen her—and he had…eventually. It must have been pure instinct to physically restrain her, he reasoned.

He exhaled in a slow, intently controlled manner. He forced himself to replay it again in his mind, so it ingrained in him her filthiness, unworthiness. He breathed until he was satisfied he could reflect emotionlessly upon it.

Then there was the Draco matter. Lucius didn't want to replay that scene. He settled in his armchair and poured himself a glass of red wine. He sat staring at it for a moment, watching the refraction of light as it passed through the glass. He did not want to think of Draco. It brought up too many emotions he didn't want to feel. It angered him that she had made him think of his son. Unwantingly, he replayed his outburst. Suffering breeds capability, after all…

His remembrance left his mind to wander to that day of the battle. He'd taken his fair share of lives. More than that, to his lord's praise. He felt only the slightest distant twinge that some of them were children. Pathetic rebels, most disgustingly impure. He'd known from the start that the Light would lose, they all had. Voldemort was far too powerful; a seventeen year-old boy was no match for the near-immortal Dark Lord. Potter was all too quickly taken care of. The rest was clean-up. Those who weren't easy to kill straight-off were taken captive.

This reminded Lucius of the Mudblood's purpose. A finishing, sinister touch the Dark Lord planned to mark his ascension to the Wizarding throne. Lucius sighed; he had planning to do. A party to throw, a platform to build, a symbolic throne to construct. Being in the Lord's good graces did not always have its perks. Sometimes it was downright irritating. His mind drifted back to the past.

It was only after the majority of the hard fighting was over that Lucius had found Draco. He had never been a fighter, Lucius thought, cradling the corpse of his son, not really. There had been little warmth left in the body; the boy had died early on. Lucius had shook with anger and grief. He did not weep, but it was the closest he'd come since Narcissa died. That was a different memory, one that didn't belong in this reminiscence.

They had all known the plans the Dark Lord had should he win; there were explicit instructions to leave certain people alive. But seeing his dead son had blinded him momentarily in his mission. He saw red and disobeyed his lord. He did not regret his actions, no matter the painful consequence they bore down on him later. It was righteous justice. Sweeter still that he got the hateful little Mudblood after the battle. Lucius took another sip of wine.

He heard muttering from the other side of the bathroom door. He slanted its eyes in its direction. He almost didn't like that she made little to no noise. When he'd first visited her, he'd been surprised that the Mudblood had been awake long enough to deal with her injuries. Never mind that she had dirtied and bloodied his washcloths. He'd seen the fresh blood seeping through the wound; Lucius was not a novice when it came to such things, he knew that rudimentary cleaning a half-healed wound like that was agonizing. Yet he had heard _nothing._ This for some reason upset him. She was supposed to be a weak, defeated piece of trash. That was how war captives worked. He sipped from his glass.

Occasionally she talked to herself, and from what he could hear it was mostly one-sided conversations or litanies of potions ingredients and charms. Once he'd heard her whistle a strange, eerie tune.

Other thoughts floated into his mind. Healing her wrist. He begrudgingly reflected that he had not intended at the time to break the joint, just wanted to demonstrate his power over her, as was appropriate of his station. He _had _told her that she would live, die and suffer at his hands; he recognized when a simple display of power turned to unnecessary, and more importantly unplanned suffering, though he was loath to admit fault. It wasn't severity of the wound so much as principle—he was a noble, after all. _And you've rectified that situation; it is done now,_ his cool intellect intoned. He dismissed the issue.

Lucius drained his goblet and stood; he had better things to do than harp over a Mudblood all day. The hour was late but his night was far from finished.

* * *

When Malfoy had left, Hermione felt the pit of her stomach drop sharply. Painfully. Unlike her normal self, it took a bit before his words fully sank in. She was trapped by his horrid branding. She had sat silently for quite awhile just contemplating that fact after Malfoy had left. He'd said it just to be evil and make her hurt, she knew. And it did hurt. It left her positively breathless, lungs aching and chest throbbing. It wasn't a matter of escaping the manor now; it was a matter of escaping the _world_, a concept that held dangerous possibilities. She shivered, not liking the implications. Maybe that was the wrong way to look at it; if she didn't have the brand, for instance…she stared at the vestiges of her limb. She wasn't sure she was ready to sacrifice any more body parts. She angrily swiped at the tears threatening to spill over, almost welcoming the pain her force brought to her bruised face.

She hated it here. She hated the silence. She hated the helplessness. She hated the lack of anything to do and she hated her captivity. She missed her parents, her friends, her books. She was the brightest witch of her age, god dammit! No, she thought sadly, …she _had _been the brightest witch of her age. Those days were gone now, and her heart felt it with a pang. She shouldn't be thinking about this; Malfoy could walk in at any time, and then what? He'd see he crying on the floor? Not a snowball's chance in hell. She let a fleeting image of her parents cross her mind before she resolutely focused on counting bathroom tiles. She already knew that there were two hundred and forty-seven of them, but she couldn't quite bring herself to switch from counting tiles to averaging thread counts in the bathmat tassels. When she had reached two hundred and forty-seven, she stopped and stared blankly at the door.

With a soft growl she kicked the bathmat. It was the only thing that moved in this room. It flopped lifelessly over in half. Not doing anything was driving her insane! _And breaking your toes when you miss the bathmat and hit the bath are going to do you so much better. _Pursing her lips, she exhaled slowly, listening to reason. She wished breathing exercises worked quicker. She readjusted the bathmat and settled upon it, careful not to ease her hurting back against the tub. _Why won't it heal faster! _she thought irritably. She knew, of course, that it took time to heal wounds without magic or Muggle antibiotics, but her irritation was getting in the way of thinking rationally. _Shhh. Breathe in. _She started counting again.

When she was finally calm, Hermione addressed the other shock: her hand. Hermione was as grateful for her healed wrist as she was confused. As far as she was concerned, Malfoy had about as much reason to heal her as he had to cheer for the Gryffindor quidditch team. It made her wary of ulterior motives—a debt, perhaps? He would, wouldn't he, she thought fiercely. Heal the wound he inflicted and expect repayment. Some sort of mind game? She couldn't figure it out, and that bothered her.

The biggest relief, she found quickly, of having her hand back was the ease at which she could use the toilet. It had been a terribly piecemeal and haphazard operation of spinning the toilet paper and letting it wind about her stump before she could tear it off. Though it had been totally private, she'd still found the difficulty to perform such a basic task a humiliating experience. Now, while she was still rather clumsy with her left hand, it was much easier to clean up after herself. Her pride was assuaged, if only slightly.

Hours later she was asleep on the bathmat, waking from some internal alarm she doubted had anything to do with the actual time. As it happened, soon after, the familiar muttered word and _click _opened the door to Malfoy. The memory of her anger surged back at the mere look of him, and she glared, a bit bleary yet from sleep. Her sneered right back at her and wrinkled his nose.

"You reek of filth, Mudblood." He drawled. "How…_fitting_." Before she could stop herself, she snapped,

"Yeah, well, the last time I filled the tub you nearly drowned me in it, or don't you remember?" _Wow, that was stupid, _her inner Darwin groaned as it prepared itself for pain. Malfoy was smiling a slimy little half-smile at her.

"Yes, I suppose I did, didn't I?" Hermione tensed, waiting, expecting, now fully awake. Five lashes rained down for her disobedient tongue, and she fell forward, arms wrapped around her legs, head in her knees biting her shirt, determined not to give him the pleasure of a scream. When he stopped, she craned her head up, looking at him through her frizzled bangs, jaw set. He looked almost puzzled, but the look faded so quickly to hate and disdain that Hermione was sure she'd imagined it. Her head certainly was spinning.

"Still insolent," his unwavering, even voice cut through her erratic breathing. She ignored him, focusing on not losing control over her fear and pain. There was a moment of silence. _Go AWAY _Hermione moaned internally. He didn't. He remained silent for a moment but then, to her fury and loathing, asked,

"Where do you belong, Mudblood?" ...back to business. She didn't move for a long moment, hating him with every fiber of her being, but then slowly rocked forward onto her hands and knees. The stretch made more blood ooze painfully from her back. She clenched her teeth, seething quietly under her breath.

"What was that?" Malfoy's sharp voice rang out. Hermione said nothing, staring determinedly at her brand, trying to laser it off.

She didn't know why she didn't expect a violent reaction from him; she should have. Clearly. Hindsight did her little good pinned against the cold wall, an invisible force resting lightly on her windpipe. When she could see again, she couldn't focus her eyes on the tall blonde in front of her. She felt a knot of pain on the back of her head. Malfoy waited.

"Well?" He asked smoothly, as if she wasn't pinned against the wall, as if her head wasn't swimming and her back screaming. Hermione looked at him dazedly for a moment.

_Well what? Oh…oh what DID I say? I don't even remember! _Hermione's eyes widened in confused panic. He was so disconcerting! _Come on now, think! _ The pressure on her windpipe increased. She gagged.

"S-Stop!" she wheezed. The pressure let up, minutely. Her blurred vision tried to focus on his face.

"I will know if you lie, Mudblood," the blonde blob hissed lightly. _Well, in that case…_

"I d-don't remember." She replied honestly. She saw him pause, head tilted to the side for a long moment as if considering her.

"Do I frighten you, Mudblood?" He asked eventually, his voice back to a drawl. The pressure on her throat lessened a tad more. She sucked in air as best she could for a few seconds. Then, gathering her courage,

"Absolutely." Her vision was returning. He was smirking, pleased. But she wasn't finished. _Just begging for punishment today, aren't we? _She locked survival-Hermione in a corner of her mind.

"Why shouldn't I be afraid?" she demanded of him, drawing another breath. His eyebrows raised a fraction of a dangerous inch. "You are a _Death Eater_. That puts the fear of God in me from the start. I'm locked in a _bathroom, _starved, branded, beaten, and forced to kneel at your mercy. I have no idea what's to become of me or why I'm here. You have complete control over my life. Who _wouldn't _be afraid of you?" She met his eyes angrily, and to her fury tears started leaking from the corners of her eyes. She was panting. It was the most she'd said to him in one go. She felt a bit woozy and more than a little nauseous.

Malfoy was staring at her. His satisfied smirk from earlier was gone. He narrowed his eyes at her. But he did nothing; she didn't know if this was a good thing or not. She was betting not. Finally he spoke.

"I will not ask you your place at my feet again," he stated, as if addressing an oversight. Hermione looked at him warily; she didn't quite believe that. "From now on when I enter, you _will _kneel immediately, or will be punished."

_Of course. _Malfoy wasn't done.

"You are right in that you have every reason to fear me, girl. Not many would admit this." Hermione said nothing, but she easily pictured the many people who had denied their fear until they were given painful and tormenting reason to admit it. She was released from her hold and she fell to the floor, landing on her rear. Malfoy looked like he wanted to leave as much as she wanted him to, and she willed him away with her mind.

"I should punish you for your…second…outburst today." Hermione flinched and clenched her teeth, anticipating. "But I have matters to attend to. This…visit…is already overextended." Hermione let out a breath slowly, not trusting him to relax her jaw.

"You will bathe." He stated abruptly. She was confused by the change of topic and looked up. He conjured a simple green dress robe with black hem. It settled on the towel rack opposite her. He looked uncomfortable and angry. "Your presence will be needed tonight. Try to make yourself look…" he appraised her body and she held back a growl, "...less like the filth you are." He continued with the nonchalance that she hated, "You will, of course, be punished if you disobey." And the door slammed shut.

Of course he wouldn't make this easy, Hermione thought. Not even something as simple as a _bath _could be easy with Malfoy. He'd left her no towel, save for the ruined washcloths she'd thrown into the bin, no soap, _nothing _conducive to taking a bath. And she had _no _idea when he'd be back.

"Smidgey?" she called out tentatively. There was no reply from the house-elf. She tried again. "Look, Smidgey, your master told me to take a bath, but he's left me no towel and no soap…if I'm going to..to obey," she almost bit her tongue off on the word, "your master then I need to have _something. _Please, Smidgey?"

Hermione was always resourceful, but there came a point when resourcefulness turned to utter foolishness. And she certainly felt foolish, talking to an empty room. Hermione sighed and turned on the taps. When the tub was half-full there was a _crack _behind her and suddenly Smidgey was there, holding a comb, a dark green towel, shampoo and soap. He held the items out with wide eyes, and for once did not fall over himself in babbling words and sentences. Frowning slightly, but nonetheless grateful to the elf, she expressed her thanks and reached for the items. No sooner had she taken them than the elf vanished.

Hermione pushed the elf's odd behavior out of her mind. She tried not to be _too _excited for her bath; it's not that she wanted to obey Malfoy, but she _did _want to be clean. She undressed carefully, leaving her shorts, underwear, and tattered remains of her shirt on the floor. She hung her bra next to the dress; she didn't want Ron's note to get wet. When the tub was full she stepped into it, knee-deep. She sighed in contentment and eased her aching body into the hot water. As soon as her back hit the water though, she shot up, crying out. The tears that stung her eyes were no match for the absolute pain she felt as the water sunk into her wounds. She panted, choking on a sob.

_That horrible Death Eater! _ He must have known how much it would hurt. He was probably out there now, reveling in the thought of her pain. He thought she would fail, so he would have more cause to hurt her. Or maybe this was punishment he didn't have time to inflict personally. She gritted her teeth in anger; he would not win this one. She was going to have her bath. With a determined mind, Hermione ignored her screaming back as she carefully washed her legs, arms, and chest. She leaned forward to wet her hair and scrubbed it clean with the shampoo, mindful of the new lump on her head. It vaguely registered that everything she used was scentless. _For sensitive skin_? Hermione almost giggled at the thought of Malfoy having delicate skin.

The water was starting to tinge pink, despite her efforts at keeping her back out of the water. Her back burned as if set aflame. She finally stepped out of the tub, hanging her hair out of the way of her cuts over her shoulder. She steadied herself against the edge of the tub, slightly dizzy. When the blood stopped pounding in her head, she patted herself dry with the towel and addressed the robe. It was more of a dress, really. She wondered what was going to happen tonight that she would need a dress robe, and why she would need to be there. A million thoughts immediately cropped up in her mind.

_No need to worry yourself into a stupor with 'what ifs' _her mind overruled her imagination. She reached for the robe. She caught sight of herself in the mirror as she did; her back was a bloody, bruised mess. Terrific, she thought. The rest of her didn't look much better, regardless of the bath.

Well, she wasn't about to stand there naked; he lack of concept of time left her nervous as to when Malfoy would return. Was it early morning? Afternoon? Almost night by now? She hurriedly shimmied into the dress.

To both her relief and chagrin, it had a relatively open back in the shape of a V. Relief because that meant no painful cloth digging its way into her back. Chagrin because not only would her wounds be on display wherever she was going, but this was also clearly a dress that involved no bra. The cups on the inside front confirmed that. Her bra…Ron's note. She felt a rise of panic in her chest. Would it be safe here without her? There was no better concealing place on her dress. She shook her head, physically clearing her thoughts. Of course it would be alright. What would anyone want with her clothes? Still…her eyes lingered on her bra, a feeling of longing and loss creeping its way into her heart.

She tore her eyes away. _Focus. _She examined the dress from the front; it was very plain. It went down to her knees, and came straight across high up on her chest. There were no frills, just a plain black border. Hermione was fine with that. She still wore no shoes. She turned again, dismayed to realize that blood was making its way down her back and about to seep into her clothes.

Teeth clamped together so tightly she could hear them creak, Hermione took the towel from on her head and reached up with it behind her. Using the mirror, she dabbed at the worst of the blood spots. It was a painful and slow process.

Blinking back tears when she was finished, she turned to her next foe, her hair. With the comb she resolutely pulled free all the knots, taking the better part of a half hour. She had to stop twice and re-blot her searing back. Her knot on her head throbbed from having hairs yanked from it, and she found herself wishing for an aspirin and a glass of water, like her mother used to bring her when she was sick.

But now her mother wasn't here and there was no aspirin and no glass of water. Hermione was tired and in pain and she could feel the oncoming pangs of hunger coming on again. She sank to her bathmat, which was remarkably and thankfully dry, and lay on her stomach. It was far from comfortable, but she fell asleep anyway, succumbing to exhaustion.

* * *

Okay guys, tell me what you think!

Organically yours,

Elemental-Analysis


	5. A Death Eaters' Gathering

So guess what! I have my first cliffhanger ever! Yay! Isn't that exciting? I decided I couldn't make this all one chapter, so I made it two; don't worry, the second half will come soon. I hope what I've written here will come as a surprise, and that it's not a bad surprise. Oh well if you think it is, the scene will be over in two chapters ^_^V

Just so you know, though most of you probably skip the witty commentary here in favor of reading the chapter, there's a bit of an adult theme in this chapter. It feels like the safe thing to do to warn you.

(Insert Standard Disclaimer Here).

* * *

It was seven o'clock and Death Eaters were apparating upon his lawn. Lucius greeted them with the grace apposite of a noble. Their companions fell in step behind them. When all of the sixty-odd followers had been greeted and ushered into the reception hall, Lucius ascended the winding staircase leading to his chambers. He opened the door to his room and crossed the plush carpet at a brisk walk.

He approached the door to the bathroom, withdrawing his wand from his cane. The lock on the door required the verbal password of his voice and name, a special preventative measure he had taken. She wasn't the smartest student of Hogwarts for nothing, he had begrudgingly admitted.

With a murmur, the door unlocked and swung open soundlessly.

Hermione was laying stomach-down, torso and head crammed on the bathmat. Her head rested in the crook of her arm and she was sound asleep. Lucius stared for a long moment, gaze fixed. Her back was criss-crossed with a maze of wounds he had inflicted on her. Many were oozing blood sluggishly yet, and one small but particularly deep pockmark pooled blood in the middle of her back. Small bruises dotted her like leopard spots. Her spine was bisected under the shoulder blades by the garish, green bruise from the tub. Her face was a mass of bruises in various stages of healing, light yellow to pinkish-purple. Her bottom lip was scabbed from being split. Asleep, she looked almost peaceful, infantile, though her brow still creased in worry. He viciously suppressed the thought that she was still, technically, a child. Like Draco.

His eyes drifted to the wall where he'd thrown her. There were light red smudges staining the white paint. He frowned briefly at the marks, and then pulled himself back to business. He must return downstairs. And so must she.

"Mudblood," he stated authoritatively to his sleeping form. She stirred, but did not wake. He repeated himself,

"_Mudblood,_" a little more forcefully. Her eyes snapped open, unfocused but sharpening quickly. She became aware of his presence and sat up quickly with a wince. Her tired, sleepy eyes found his. There was a pause and she stared blankly.

"You forget yourself, Mudblood," Malfoy said evenly, giving her a surreptitious glare. Confusion flickered over Hermione's face before with a huff she shifted from a sitting to a kneeling position, back bared once again to him. She didn't see the flick of his wand, but she felt the slight sting and faint cooling sensation associated with a healing spell on her back. She flinched out of pure surprise.

"Stand." The command sent her quickly to her feet. She glanced at the mirror; her back was by no means healed, but the bleeding at least had stopped. She felt a little dizzy and wondered just how much blood she'd lost over the past…days? Week?

"If you're finished ogling yourself…not that there's much to look at… you will come with me downstairs." Hermione winced; Malfoy never missed an opportunity to make a snide, demeaning comment. She hid her hurt with rolled eyes of annoyance and followed her captor out of her marble prison.

She descended the staircase, feet cold against the stone. She could hear voices. Many voices. It made her nervous. What was going on? She followed with trepidation across the black and white tiled entrance hall to an ornate pair of doors with gold finishing. Malfoy threw open the doors. The sight took her breath away. Up on a high stage was a throne made of what looked like gold, finely wrought. Carved snakes fit the curvature of the armrests. Dark green backing and cushioning contrasted prettily with the gold. Hermione almost gagged; there was only one guess as to whom _that _gaudy throne belonged to. And that made her nervous.

Her eyes surveyed the rest of the hall. A plain wooden platform stood in the center of the room. Death Eaters milled about the entire expanse of the great hall in their symbolic black cloaks, identical to the one Malfoy adorned. Flashes of dark green robes like hers caught Hermione's notice just as quickly as the identity of the wearers caught her breath. _ Other captives! Friends! _People she knew! Hermione's eyes roved about the room frantically, searching desperately for her companions. She couldn't breathe from emotion. There! A flash of red. A Weasley. Another! Halfway across the room. She started towards them but stopped at a snarl from Malfoy. She'd almost forgotten him. She glanced up, nervous. Private punishment was one thing, but she didn't think she could handle being whipped in front of all of these Death Eaters…in front of all of her survivors. Was that what the platform was for? Her mind raced

He was looking down at her with slanted eyes. She waited for him to make his move, tense. However, he did not seem to be interested in humiliating her publically. At least not just now.

"You are restricted solely to this hall tonight unless I say otherwise. Your mark will tell me if you disobey." He gave her a pointed look. "You _do _remember its effects…" he left the sentence to hang. At her short nod, Malfoy strode away, headed towards a cluster of black robes. Hermione let out a breath of relief and her thoughts of him fled from her mind as she all but ran to the nearest redheaded, green-robed figure. It was Fred.

"Fred!" she exclaimed in a choked whisper. The twin whirled about, eyes wide, before wrapping her in an enormous bear hug. Hermione stifled her cries of pain in his green cloak, leaking tears of joy, pain, desolation, relief. She clung to him, the first real human contact she'd had in what felt like a long time. Fred was breathing rather hard.

"Hermione…" he whispered, releasing her. He examined her face as she did his. Neither was in excellent shape, and they exchanged saddened glances. Words escaped them. He stared at her stump but said nothing, making Hermione self-conscious. Finally she said,

"Have you…Do you know any of the other captives? I thought I saw another redhead in the crowd…" She trailed off, looking at him closely. "Oh, god…is George…do you—is he…?" Fred shook his head, eyes haunted.

"Dead. Dolohov…" he whispered, far-away. Hermione's eyes closed tightly and she looked diagonally downwards, sucking in her lips. She looked back up at him, eyes full of tears and sympathy.

"I'm so sorry Fred," she gripped his hand for as much his comfort as her own. He returned the grip, eyes still distant.

"Maybe…maybe we should see if…if anyone else of your family…is—is here…Fred?" She looked at him worriedly. Fred's eyes held a kind of emptiness. It was so unlike his normal buoyant cheerfulness. Hermione felt a sharp pang of sympathy. There was an anxious moment. Finally his eyes returned to hers.

"I belong to him now," Fred said vaguely. Confusion passed over Hermione's face.

"What?"

Fred yanked up his sleeve quite suddenly. Hermione clamped a hand over her mouth. _A.D. _was burned into Fred's skin. _Antonin Dolohov. _Hermione felt sick.

"Fred…" she whispered. She didn't know what to say. She looked at him searchingly. Pained eyes returned her gaze briefly, but then darted quickly over her shoulder. Hermione craned her head to follow and saw Ginny pushing her way through Death Eaters and captives alike, determinedly making her way toward her brother. Fred met her, walking slowly. Hermione watched as they embraced. When they broke away she could see Ginny fighting back tears. The younger witch caught sight of Hermione and held out a hand to her. Hermione joined them, accepting the hug from the younger girl, fighting her own tears. Ginny bore the news of George's death with the same strong determination to not cry. She hugged Fred fiercely, knotting her fists in his cloak. He ran a hand slowly through her hair, quiet.

From Hermione's vantage she could see the red, darkened skin on Ginny's right forearm. _S.S. _

_Severus Snape_, Hermione thought in rage. _That traitorous, double-crossing, oozing sack of slime!_ She balled her fist in hate, clenching her teeth. Ginny's voice brought her back.

"Uhm…Hermione?" Hermione looked at Ginny questioningly. Ginny was glancing up at Fred worriedly. "I…I wonder if you could give us a minute..? I need to…" She looked anxiously at her unresponsive brother, then back at Hermione, eyes pleading. Hermione understood.

"I…I think I'll go try to find other friends that survived," Hermione said, "And I smell food…I'm rather literally starving…Come find me later?" Ginny nodded gratefully and Hermione turned away. It tore at her heart to leave them, like she was losing them again. Her chest ached and she shook her head harshly. _They'll be right back, _her sensibility affirmed, _Now go find out who else is alive and, more importantly, why they're here. _

As she made her way across the room, Hermione was surprised at how few people she recognized. Many, yes, were of age to be students, but many more were adults. Who were they? She recognized Ministry officials, and some who looked like they could be from Durmstrang or Beauxbatons School. A huddle of students gathered around one individual in particular Hermione recognized as Professor McGonagall. She looked paler and thinner than Hermione had ever seen her, though she was not marked with the bruises and whip marks of the many surrounding her. She was trying desperately to comfort all those who surrounded her. Despite her rather practical disposition, Hermione understood that to the child captives, she was the closest semblance of a mother they'd seen since the Battle. Emotions surged through Hermione but she did not go over; her…former…Head of House had enough to deal with. Her heart ached. She kept wandering.

Quite abruptly, and to her stomach's relief, she found herself at the food table. Hermione wondered vaguely if she was allowed to eat, but hunger won over wariness and she tentatively nibbled a piece of flatbread covered in warm toasted cheese. She wondered if Smidgey had prepared the enormous amounts of food and bet the elf had a field day when Malfoy ordered it.

She moved to a relatively unoccupied corner of the room, near the kitchen entrance, scanning the green robes again for people she knew. Was everyone else dead? She was so lost in thought that she didn't notice the Death Eater approaching her. When the black robe brushed up against her body, she jerked away, eyes narrowing at the Death Eater's rudeness. It was a man she didn't recognize. He sneered at her, appraising her body with a long look. Hermione scowled and suddenly felt severely underdressed. She glared at him, wanting to warn him to back off but wary yet of the implications of telling off a Death Eater.

The man looked at her, and she noticed a flicker of excitement in his eyes. He was a vile, muscular man. What little attractiveness he possessed was made ugly by his Death Eater's mark. Hermione wanted to retch.

"Well," he purred, backing her slowly toward the wall, "and who are you?" Hermione turned left, trying to prevent getting stuck between him and the wall. He grabbed her right arm.

"Ahh…so you're one of the ones we splinched," he said, glinting eyes examining her mutilated stump. Hermione's eyes narrowed, mind travelling back to that night. This voice the not match the Death Eater who had led her group of captives. The other masked figure, then. Was this him? What was his name? Jugson? The man twisted her arm slightly until her forearm was exposed.

"Hmm…and you belong to Lucius…" he trailed off the sentence in thought. "Lucky you," he said with a sick smile.

Hermione tried to wrest her wrist from him, but he only gripped harder until she whimpered in pain. She was sure she was going to have a bruise there, to add to her tally. She put as much distance between her body and his as she could, extending her arm fully. He pulled her struggling form in closer. He breathed into her ear. His breath stank.

"I'm sure Lucius wouldn't mind if I…borrowed…you, for a bit. Don't you think?" Hermione writhed. "I deserve _something_, don't I?" He said this last more to himself, though Hermione didn't pay much attention

"Get off of me, you piece of filth!" she hissed venomously, vaguely registering that it sounded like something Malfoy would say. The Death Eater chuckled darkly.

"No... I don't suppose he'd mind at all. I might even teach you some manners, bitch." Hermione's chest filled with panic. She considered her options. She didn't really think that attracting the attention of a room full of Death Eaters was a particularly good idea, but staying with whom she presumed to be Jugson was also not an option.

He was pulling her to the right; she stomped determinedly on his foot, bringing her elbow back as hard as she could into his stomach. He hissed and doubled over and she wrenched herself free. She was barely a step and a half away before she was stopped in her tracks by Jugson, nearly keeling over. Fuming and scared, she struggled against invisible bonds that bound her feet, wrists, and mouth. He was levitating her, just barely above the ground. His arm looped around her waist and she shuddered in utter disgust. His robe sleeve brushed against her abused back and tears pricked her eyes.

"Aww, I'm sorry, does that hurt?" the mocking voice crooned at her, not releasing his grip about her. The door to the kitchens was opened and suddenly she was inside. Her feet and wrists were released and she stumbled forward, catching herself against a counter.

_Smidgey! _She thought immediately, looking around the kitchen. The tiny elf was nowhere to be seen. _Where is he! _Her mind panicked. She turned and saw that Jugson had removed his cloak and was eyeing her. She backed away, eyes darting to the door.

"Warded and locked," the Death Eater assured her with a grin. Hermione felt the pit of her stomach drop. Hadn't _anyone _noticed? The past few minutes whirled in her head. No one in the crowd had even _looked _in their direction. _Disillsionment Charm, _she realized. _It must've been. _

Jugson was advancing on her. The situation felt surreal. She'd read about sex, and the vileness of rape, but she never expected herself to be in this position. _Ever. _Not even when she was first captured, and not when she woke up in Lucius Malfoy's bathroom. In a quick motion he snagged her stump, pinning it against the wall. Before he could reach her left wrist though she darted her hand to his grip on her stump. She pinched the flesh between his thumb and forefinger. He growled and snatched her hand away. She curled her fingers and jammed her thumbnail underneath his. He howled and released her.

She would have been ready for his next attempt but a sudden burning erupted in the tender flesh of her branding. She cried out in pain as she remembered; she wasn't allowed to be here. Her hand clamped on her forearm.

Jugson used her moment of newfound pain and panic to slam her against the wall. She moaned as she felt the wounds on her back reopen, the lump on her head making her dizzy. The sound was muffled by her invisible gag. With a muttered word from Jugson the stone of the wall warped itself and wrapped around her left wrist. Another cuff secured itself around her right elbow. She tried to bring up her knee but with a snarl he restrained her ankles similarly. He stepped back then, briefly admiring his quick handiwork of her. Hermione was in a slight daze from the combined pain of her back and her brand. The burning in her forearm was slowly creeping up toward her elbow. She knew it would eventually reach her chest…and then what? Kill her?

Jugson was back, pressing against her body. The excitement had returned to his eyes. She closed hers, fighting off tears that were already creeping down her face. She felt her heart crashing about in her chest. He started to move against her…

* * *

Lucius was conversing with Avery and Dolohov when he felt the gentle nudge in his mind signaling that his Mudblood was out-of-bounds. Growling under his breath, he triggered the burning punishment, returning to his conversation. Stupid girl had probably gotten lost; or else, if she was trying to escape, she would stop now.

A minute later he received another signal, and he increased the pain level, starting to spread the burning.

When he received the third signal, he excused himself from the conversation and went in search of the girl. He strode through the crowd, absolutely furious. His hair flared out slightly with his robes as he walked. He moved swiftly towards her signal…to…the kitchen door? What on earth would the Mudblood be doing in there? It was far from the escape plan he'd imagined. With a growl he opened the door. It swung open soundlessly. Noises came muttered from the far wall. With a quiet _Finite _spell, two figures appeared from a Disillusionment Charm. He stared, eyes locking on the scene before him.

The Mudblood was clearly restrained against the wall. A Death Eater, Jugson, was grinding against her body slowly, whispering obscene phrases into her ear. His hands were roving over her body, one on her chest and one tugging up the hem of her dress robe, halfway up her thigh. The Mudblood was crying.

It was a disgusting scene. In _his _house! His eyes narrowed. Hermione looked up then and met his gaze with glistening eyes, pleading.

* * *

When Jugson first pressed his body against hers, Hermione thrashed, bucking and straining against her bonds as much as she could. This only seemed to encourage him, and he moaned in guttural approval. She felt a bulge pressing up against her lower stomach, and she fell absolutely still. She closed her eyes and willed her mind away forcefully. She didn't want to feel his hand making its way up her leg, or the one squeezing her breasts. She tried to focus on the physical pain she was feeling more than the emotional, dissociating herself from Jugson. Her arm was positively on fire, sending streaks of pain up her upper arm. At this rate, she would be dead in a few minutes…just a few more minutes…Jugson whispered something vile in her ear. Hermione opened her eyes, shuddering and crying openly now. Her eyes widened as she focused on the figure beyond Jugson. Malfoy was here.

Relief and shame flooded her frazzled nerves, and she begged him with her eyes to help her. He stood there, face emotionless, body unmoving, staring directly at her yet doing nothing. Her heart sank and she felt nauseous…He wasn't going to help her…she'd thought she'd been saved. Fresh tears came forth and she gagged against her binding. Malfoy turned slightly away, and the last of her hope fled. She hung her head, forehead brushing against Jugson's shoulder in desolate defeat.

"Jugson." Hermione's head shot up quicker than Jugson's. Malfoy had not left! He was holding the Death Eater's discarded cloak in his hands, looking disgusted. Jugson whirled around. Malfoy flung the cloak at him, face expressionless. The corner of it whipped Hermione's face, but she hardly noticed.

Jugson stepped away from her, and Hermione sagged against her bindings, shaking. The vile man was speaking.

"…only a little fun with her, Lucius!" Jugson was protesting in a joking fashion. Malfoy did not seem to share his amiability.

"She is a Mudblood. Have some sense of propriety, you fool," Malfoy drawled, voice hinting at nothing. Jugson looked disgruntled. He shot Hermione a look.

"She talked back to me, that little bitch! I was only showing her some manners—probably doing you a favor!" There was definite bitterness in Jugson's voice now, but Hermione wasn't sure it was directed toward her.

Malfoy suddenly looked dangerous.

"Regardless of the…favor…You do understand, Jugson, that marked mine, she is _mine _to decide what to do with. It is not my fault you were not in my Lord's good graces to receive a captive of your own." Malfoy's cool voice did not waver. Jugson looked furious but remained silent. "Her presence here tonight is not for your enjoyment; you know this. You will not touch her or any other captive without their owner's express permission; you know this as well," Malfoy continued coolly, discussing Hermione as if she were a piece of property, and with just about as much emotion, "Now leave. We will all be needed in the reception hall shortly." There was no room for argument in Malfoy's authoritative voice and obvious superiority over Jugson. With a frustrated growl, Jugson left, slamming the kitchen door behind him.

Hermione and Malfoy were alone. She looked at him. She'd never been so grateful to a man she hated so much. She noticed that the pain in her arm had nearly disappeared, though the throbbing of her back had not. There was a long moment in which he did nothing to free her, just observed her silently. Fear crept its way up into her veins again. Would he leave her here? Why was he just staring? He wouldn't…no, he—

She fell to the floor suddenly with a _thump_, knees crashing into the hard floorboards. Her bonds had disappeared and she rubbed the spots worn tender from the clamps. Her mouth was released from its binding as well. She stayed in that spot, feeling eternally weary and exhausted. Her mind was overworked with emotion.

With enormous effort, she looked up at him from her cowering spot on the floor. He was as imposing and indifferent as ever, looking down on her. Swallowing despite her dry mouth, she croaked,

"Th…Thank-you." Her first sincere words of thanks to him. Her pride was lost in the turmoil of emotions. She didn't move from her position, frozen.

His expression did not change. After a pause,

"You will be in the reception hall in fifteen minutes. Make yourself presentable and return immediately there. You will not be allowed in the kitchens after that time." Malfoy swept out of the room, leaving her with the implications.

_Explicit as ever_, clipped Hermione's mind. Slowly, achingly, she dragged herself over to the sink. She splashed cold water on her face, aware that her night was not yet over. Whatever purpose she'd been brought down from her bathroom for, she still had yet to endure.

She scrubbed at her arms and chest, feeling dirty no matter how red she made her skin. She gave up, turning off the tap with shaky hands. She couldn't look at the wall to her right. The room was becoming suffocating. It was hard to breath…hard to breath as his hands groped her body, tongue licking her neck…she shuddered violently. She had to get out of this room.

Stumbling, she pushed open the door to the reception hall. She couldn't see Malfoy. Nor Jugson, to her relief.

Shakily, she braced herself against the wall. She shoved the reality of what had almost happened violently from her mind. There was no room for emotion if she wanted to be prepared for whatever was coming next. She wondered how long it had been since Malfoy had left her in the kitchens. It didn't seem like that long, but at the same time it felt like ages. What was going to happen?

Her question was answered as she and the rest of the green-robed captives were herded to the center of the room, around the platform. Hermione cried out as a wand jabbed into her back, and winced as she was pushed roughly against other captives. Her eyes searched until she found the two redheads. They were standing near McGonagall. Hermione pushed her way through the mass of children and adults until she reached them. Ginny grabbed her hand, eyes wide, and Hermione tried not to flinch at the contact. _It's just Ginny!_

"What's going on, do you think?" Ginny asked in a whisper. Before Hermione could reply, the din of the Death Eaters quieted suddenly. Out of confusion, the 60-odd captives hushed as well, waiting. A feeling of dread started to grow amongst them, and Hermione shuddered.

The reception hall opened with a bang, and the Death Eaters dropped to the floor on bended knee. Over their heads, cries of the prisoners echoed and died as a raise of panic filled the room. Lord Voldemort strode forward, black robes billowing about his willowy frame. Hermione's breath caught as his hideously red eyes surveyed the room. An ugly Mona Lisa, eyes boring into hers even as they appraised the room, laughing at her. Hermione couldn't suppress another shiver.

"Risse, my loyal supporters," he hissed commandingly. Death Eaters rose to their feet, at attention to their lord. Hermione felt a wave of disgust mix in with her fear and apprehension.

_Think they're the kings of the world over defenseless people, yet they cower at the mere sight of their lord. _She looked for Malfoy. He stood closest to Voldemort, eyes downcast in respect, like the rest of the Death Eaters. _Like a dog, _she thought in petty vengeance.

Her eyes followed Voldemort as he parted the crowd toward his throne. She heard several yips and gasps as the frightened captives scrabbled to get out of his paused before his throne, turning to face them. His slithering voice echoed in the silent room.

"Tonight…markss officially the night I take my place" the words slid from his mouth, "As rightful Ruler of the Wizarding World. Congratulations, my followers!" There were cheers of approval from the Death Eaters, as the captives listened in despaired silence. Voldemort held up a hand to silence his Death Eaters, which was granted immediately.

"But as you know…" and Voldemort continued, leering at the captives, "_I _am not the guest of honor here tonight." There were murmurs of assent from the Death Eaters. Hermione and Ginny exchanged apprehensive looks, their grips tightening on each other.

"Let's bring out the entertainment for our…_guests_…" Voldemort hissed. He sat gracefully upon his throne, a snide smile gracing his horrible face. The door to the reception hall opened again and heads turned. Shouts of anger and cries of dismay immediately rose up from the captives. Ginny's hand tightened impossibly hard around Hermione's, and let out a sob of anguish. Craning her neck to see, Hermione's heart plummeted.

There, standing beaten and bruised, heavily chained in the entrance to the hall, was Harry Potter.

* * *

So was that a bad turn for the story to take? I'm so anxious. I hope I at least appeased one chocolate-loving reviewer with Harry's appearance though ^.^;; (but maybe not). Please let me know what you think!


	6. Life of the Party

Hello all! I want you to know that I hated writing the first four pages of this chapter. It was not Lucius/Hermione interaction, and overall I found it quite boring to write. But that's the problem with cliffhangers; they have to be resolved. In any case, I had a blast writing the other ten pages, though I'm thinking I may have gotten Malfoy and Hermione out of character. Oh well. Let me know what you think!

-Remialcsid-

* * *

The next moments passed in slow motion for Hermione. Harry was brought up, stumbling, to the platform. If it hadn't been for the force holding him up, Hermione was sure he would collapse. She heard Ginny's sobs and felt her own chest burning with grief and anger. _Harry…_

The boy looked around him. His glasses were missing. He squinted at the crowd, sadness and disappointment etched eternally on his face. He didn't see her or Ginny, his beaten body facing Voldemort.

Suddenly he was dropped harshly, landing on his hands and knees with a slight moan. Hermione's jaw clenched in fury. His body was released from its magical bindings but Harry stayed in his place on the platform. Voldemort's voice sounded across the room.

"Here is your _hero_, the great _Harry Potter,_" he hissed, sending a yellow-tinted curse in the boy's direction. Harry writhed and screamed. Hermione recognized it as a variant of a blood-boiling curse and felt sick. The crowd of captives was a mixed sea of crying, anguished faces and shocked, silent onlookers.

Voldemort raised his wand and Harry stopped convulsing. Hermione could see his chest heaving with the effort it took to breathe. Voldemort spoke again, his voice echoing painfully in Hermione's ears.

"How _stupid _of you, to put your faith in one so incredibly incapable. Look where it has gotten you." Another curse, a jet of violet light Hermione didn't recognize, hit Harry squarely in the chest. Burn marks and blisters erupted on his arms, legs, torso, and face. The teenager yelled in his agony.

"STOP IT!" Ginny was shouting directly next to Hermione, her grip on the older girl's hand impossibly tight. She started moving to the platform, dragging Hermione with her. Tears streamed down her face. "Stop it! Leave him alo—" Ginny was knocked suddenly to the floor, wrenched from Hermione's grip. She was at once restrained physically and vocally by shadowy black ropes. Hermione looked up; Snape stood with his wand pointed at the redheaded girl, a sour look on his face. His eyes glittered. Ginny trembled on the ground with the force of her muted sobs.

"Bring her here, Severus" Voldemort's wintry voice sent chills down Hermione's spine and she grew sick with worry. She watched in panic as Snape levitated Ginny's body up the stage, depositing her on her knees in front of the Dark Lord. Hermione watched, breathless, with the rest of the captives. Ginny was shaking; probably a mixture of fear and anger, Hermione thought.

"Ginerva Weasley…is it not?" Voldemort addressed the small girl, who nodded curtly. Voldemort smiled evilly.

"I _had _rather hoped Severus would keep you alive long enough…for this. I _did _want to see the lover of Harry Potter as she watched him die. And you will watch now, filthy blood-traitor, as I destroy him—No, Severus," he said, addressing Snape, "Leave her up here. I intend to enjoy this." Snape bowed and retreated.

Hermione burned with anger. She hated him. Both of them. _All of them. _She tore her gaze away from her traitorous Professor and focused again on Harry. Silently, she recalled as much detail as she could about shielding. When Voldemort raised wand for the third time, she focused all her energy and whispered an incantation. Wandlessly, she erected a rudimentary shield, draining enormous amounts of energy, that deflected Voldemort's next curse. The Dark Lord snarled in anger.

"Who dares try and stop me?" He demanded harshly.

There was silence. Internally, Hermione glowed with triumph. Suppressing a smirk of her own, she looked down. Her small smile disappeared. To her horror, she found her body was quite literally _glowing. Oh no, oh no oh no oh no_, she panicked, recognizing the genesis spell. Ducking lower in the crowd proved fruitless, and she felt an invisible force dragging her through the crowd. She stumbled and fell on the steps, catching herself on her hand, stump and knees. She stared at the hem of his robes, not looking up at him. She felt disgusted.

"Did you actually think that was _smart_, you filthy Mudblood?" he purred at her. Hermione bit her lip. Voldemort continued. "Are you _proud? _There is _nothing, _you despicable wretch, that can stop me from getting what I _want._" She felt an invisible blow crash into her side, and she tumbled into Ginny, bracing herself against the girl. Her face twisted in pain, but nothing escaped her mouth.

"Lucius…" Voldemort's voice brought the death eater up instantly to the front of the room. He bowed.

"My Lord," he murmured, and rose.

"Restrain your charge…and keep her close," Voldemort ordered. Hermione felt the cool shadowy bonds slither around her. They tightened hard, making her wince. She knew Malfoy was furious with her. Voldemort chuckled darkly at her pain.

"And now…" he said, loftily raising his wand. Hermione didn't see or hear what curse was cast, but she watched Harry's renewed convulsions, body spasming unnaturally. Voldemort spoke to her now, letting Harry suffer on the platform.

"Thanks to your mistake, Mudblood, I will draw out Potter's demise longer than I had originally planned." Hermione fought back sickness as her stomach plunged. She blanched. _No, Harry! _Ginny was looking at her with a pained expression. Hermione could not meet her eyes.

Her head was suddenly forced forward, facing Harry directly. She could see faces of the captives looking apprehensively at her. The torture on the young man's body continued for what seemed like an eternity, though Hermione knew it to be a mere half hour by the wall clock. Tears streamed freely down her face as she watched her best friend's torment.

Finally, Voldemort ended his tirade of curses and hexes. Harry's bloodied and bruised body stopped thrashing and he lay panting on the platform, barely conscious. His lips moved as he breathed hard, forced whispers coming from his mouth. Voldemort missed nothing.

"What was that, Potter?" he asked, smugly, "Begging for your life already? I'm sure we'd love to hear what the famous Potter's last words are." There were murmurs from the Death Eaters and captives alike. Voldemort leaned forward on his throne.

"Well, Potter?" he inquired, voice like oil. The Dark Lord cast a _Sonorous _charm at Harry. Harry's breathing echoed in the room for a long moment.

"You…coward," he panted finally, voice booming. Voldemort's smug look vanished. "You sick…sick…bastard. You're…_nothing_…you _will _be…stopped."

Voldemort was livid, face whiter than normal, lips pulled back in a snarl. With a vicious wave of his wand, Harry was sent flying straight upwards, crashing into Malfoy's chandelier. He was thrown midair to either side of the room, crashing into the walls with force. Jerked back over the platform, Voldemort let his body fall, shouting thunderously,

"_Avada Kedavra!" _Harry was dead before he hit the platform. Hermione and Ginny screamed into their gags, joining the wails of anguish from the sea of captives. Harry's body lay twisted at odd angles on his back, dead green eyes open and staring blankly at the stage. Small drops of blood dripped down on his body from the chandelier. Hermione knew she would choke on her vomit if she threw up, but she sobbed and gagged into her bonds. Ginny had fallen against her, shaking uncontrollably.

There was an infinite moment of mixed cries of sadness, fear and anger from the captives, of joy and victory from the Death Eaters. The room echoed with noise, making Hermione's head ache. At long last Voldemort held up his hand. The Death Eaters silenced easily. Those captives who did not follow suit were restrained by their captors in the same manner Hermione and Ginny were. Tension and fear escalated in the already emotionally tormented captives.

Now what?

The question seemed to ring in the air like a siren. Voldemort answered the call with a look of ultimate triumph on his face.

"Now that your precious _savior _is dead," he began, and the captives collectively flinched. Ginny positively shook next to Hermione, and Hermione shifted her body closer to the suffering girl. She could not look at the platform, at Harry's mangled body. Voldemort continued, "your fate rests in the hands of your captors. He…or she," he acknowledged Bellatrix in particular with a nod, "will decide if you die tonight." Renewed panic surged through the green masses. Hermione felt her head swim with shock.

"Should they allow you to live," Voldemort continued, voice rising over the terror of the captives, "you will remain slaves to them and their families for the rest of your _pathetic _lives." Dread blanketed the captives. Voldemort reveled in it for a moment before calling out,

"Avery." _So, he plans to make a spectacle of this as well, _Hermione thought, revolted and angry. She watched as Avery approached, a small writhing blonde boy in tow behind him. Avery stopped and bowed before his lord, forcing the boy to the floor as well. Hermione realized with a start that it was Colin Creevey. Avery rose, leaving Colin on the floor.

"Your intentions?" Voldemort inquired silkily. Avery glanced down at the boy.

"I have no use for him," he stated evenly, and a jet of green light exited his wand. The small body crumpled. Hermione closed her eyes. It continued on. Dolohov killed off Fred, explaining that the boy was "broken beyond repair" for his tastes. By this point Ginny had stopped shaking and was completely limp against Hermione. McGonagall was not spared either. Some students were kept alive, most of them attractive girls, Hermione noticed with sickening disgust. Some were attractive boys too. All looked frightened beyond belief.

"Severus?" Voldemort had reached to potions master. Ginny was levitated bonelessly down from the stage, deposited in a heap a Snape's feet. Snape bowed, and Hermione glared at him hatefully.

"I will keep the Weasley girl, if it pleases you, my lord," he said. Voldemort nodded his acquiescence, and Snape moved away, levitating Ginny after him. The girl did not protest once, head hung and body limp. The list continued on with Amycus and Alecto Carrow, the latter of whom kept her captive as a slave while the former disposed of his. Finally, Voldemort reached Malfoy.

"Lucius," Voldemort called, and Hermione felt the knots of dread in her stomach clench horribly. She was dragged ungracefully from the stage, falling on her side at Malfoy's feet. She struggled to get to her knees. She closed her eyes and bowed her head, knowing the verdict. She wondered briefly if the Killing Curse hurt very much. Lucius spoke.

"I will keep her, my Lord," he intoned. Shock and confusion flooded through Hermione like a river released by a dam. She barely heard Voldemort's reply. She felt herself being dragged to her feet. She looked dazedly at Malfoy. He was not looking at her.

They moved to the side and the next Death Eater was called up. Malfoy's magical grip on her kept her at his side, but distinctly not touching. Hermione felt herself slowly start to numb, her awareness of her surroundings growing fuzzy.

At last the killings were over with, and Voldemort banished the pile of bodies as if they held no more significance than a spilled potion. Hermione stared blankly at the empty spot where the corpses had lain.

She was forced to her knees one other time that night, when Voldemort finally rose to leave. The rest of the captives were also forced to kneel with their owners. The Dark Lord swept regally out of Malfoy's home. Shortly after, Death Eaters approached Malfoy to bid him goodnight. She was forced to remain on her knees.

When the last Death Eater finally left the manor, Malfoy released her from her shadowy bonds. Her limbs ached and she sagged in her position on the floor.

"Stand, Mudblood," he said commandingly. She obeyed, still wrapped in the warmth of numbness that enveloped her mind.

Hermione followed Malfoy upstairs, mind hollowly blank. She couldn't—wouldn't—process what had happened tonight. There was just too much. She didn't feel the soft plush of the carpet as it ran through her toes, didn't notice the sudden coldness as the floor changed to the tiles of the bathroom. She was aware that Malfoy was nearby, but he seemed distant from her, somehow.

She stopped in the middle of her cell, before the tub, staring into nothing. She couldn't—wouldn't- shake the numbness; she wasn't ready for feeling that much. Numbness was mercifully safe.

She heard the door close with a swish and a _click_. She didn't know how long she stood there. She could feel her feet start to protest their long night standing, the basic functions of her mind begging for sleep. Her eyes flickered down to her feet, then right, left. They latched onto the toilet. It was a matter of seconds before she was on her knees bent double over the porcelain lid. The sudden movement shocked her nerves, running shivers up her convulsing body.

Her mess floated in the bowl, a sickly yellow color; stomach bile had come up in place of her lack of food. She flushed the toilet. She breathed heavily, closing her eyes, trying to block out the stench of her vomit.

She couldn't stop the shudders that possessed her body; she was dangerously close to thinking about her ordeal of a night, and the last bit of tired logic in her urged that she could not mentally process that at the moment. So instead she sank to the floor on the bathmat, reaching out and dragging her bra from the towel rack along with her. She hugged the tattered cloth close, hugged Ron close, and focused on breathing for a long time until she fell asleep.

She had no idea how long it had been, but she was awoken very suddenly by the door opening with a bang. Her heart leapt in her chest and she scrambled back into the corner between the tub and the wall, intensely and inexplicably frightened. Malfoy stood in the doorway, dressed in black silk pajamas, positively glowering down at her. She hugged herself, mind racing. Why was he here?

She swallowed, wincing as she realized her throat was raw. Briefly confused, her mind pieced it together: she'd been asleep, and now Malfoy was here and her body was frozen in strange terror, throat raw….from screaming. She felt ashamed and scared. Screaming from a nightmare. She didn't dare look at him, not wanting to hear the cruel remarks and taunting that surely preceded a fierce lashing. She remained huddled against the cold tile, knees drawn up to her chest, hugging herself. She tried to remember what she'd dreamed of, but it eluded her mind when she came close to remembering. She still felt the residual fear from the nightmare coursing through her. She shivered violently, from cold and emotion. She felt vaguely nauseous again.

Finally, he spoke.

"Did I not tell you that you were never to make a sound without my _express _permission?" His voice was a low drawl. _Good. Not seething then, _Hermione thought, _Not yet._

Hermione gave a short nod of her head, eyes still downcast. She felt the heat of humiliation and anger bubble slightly in her chest, a mixture of fear and panic creeping slowly through her veins.

"And did I not tell you, Mudblood, that you were expected to be on your knees every time I came to you?"

The panic shot straight to Hermione's heart, dousing her anger and amplifying her fear. There was no way she would escape punishment tonight. Not with two grievances. Not after obviously waking Malfoy.

Her breath hitched and she felt her stomach twist into knots. Arms shaking, she unwrapped the limbs from about her knees. She shifted her legs under her and knelt. Her trembling limbs could not support her; she felt so incredibly weak from fear. She collapsed from her semi-supported position, falling back on her heels, head bent low to the ground, arms tucked under her torso. Her breathing was shaky, and she felt the adrenaline making her muscles ache and her fingers cramp.

"Pathetic."

The word echoed softly in the bathroom and Hermione closed her eyes. His tone of voice had not changed, and she wondered distantly if she had miscalculated his emotional level earlier. She waited, too tired to move, for him to do something. He spoke to her again,

"You will be silent tonight Mudblood, or I will not hesitate to remove your vocal chords the next time. Do I make myself clear?" Hermione nodded miserably, forehead brushing the cold tile. It was monstrously unfair; she had no control over her dreams! But of course Malfoy didn't care about that. Of course not. There was a short silence.

"You will be punished for your mistakes, Mudblood," the cool practicality of his voice slid over her like oil, and she flinched. Her heart rate sped up in anticipation of the moment. She crouched down lower into a ball, preparing her tired self. His voice sounded again in the room,

"The lashings you would sustain would require a healer to see to you," he said, as though thinking aloud, "Or else I must attend to them... Which I will not. I like my punishments to be….lasting." Hermione remained silent. He was confusing her. _Get on with it already!_

He continued, "Your back is tattered too much for further damage…for now." Hermione was unsure where this was going. "Alternatively, the punishment of withholding food is also impossible, as it seems I must feed you soon to keep you conscious as it is."

There was silence. The idea of being let off the hook flitted briefly through Hermione's mind.

"So, Mudblood, where does that leave us, hmm?" Lucius' drawl was impossibly smug. He was toying with her, and she knew it. "What should I do with you?" Hermione's mind was fuzzy; what kind of question was that? Was she expected to answer it? She licked her lips, unsure, before replying,

"You could…let it go? This one time? Or…or punish me later, when I'm healed?" she suggested, and the expected cool laugh met her in answer.

"Dreaming again, Mudlblood. I think not. I will add tongue to your list of grievances." There was a pause in which she realized she was supposed to hazard another guess.

"I don't know what you want me to say!" she cried out in anger and panic. She was in no state for his mind games. And she certainly wasn't about to concoct a punishment for her to endure. Malfoy was silent, and her panic intensified. She finally looked up at him, eyes totally at a loss.

When he finally spoke again, it was in a slow manner, as if he wanted to drag out the moment. "I could, of course, easily crucio you," he offered. Hermione blanched.

"No!" Her voice cracked with force. "No," she repeated, softer, "No please don't, I'll—I'll t-take the lashings, please…" her voice trailed off. "Please, don't…I—you won't have to heal me, I can take care of it!" She imagined her terror was written all over her face as she pleaded, and she hated herself. _Begging _for lashes. For punishment. She realized suddenly that it was what he wanted, and berated herself for her stupidity. She realized that he never intended to whip her tonight. He had deliberately intended to use the Cruciatus Curse on her tonight. She felt sick.

A self-satisfied smirk was creeping its way on Malfoy's face, and without warning, he whispered the Unforgiveable curse and Hermione was writhing on the floor. Absolute agony consumed her as she felt every nerve, every neuron being stomped on, mutilated and torn apart. It was pure torture. She felt knives of pain digging their way through her arteries and veins, daggers lancing into every muscle.

And then it stopped, and she lay heaving on the floor, shaking violently. The piercing pain had disappeared completely, but her entire body ached. Her limbs twitched. She heard Malfoy above her, his voice muffled in her roaring ears.

"Let tonight be a lesson for you, Mudblood. I can do whatever I wish to do with you, and no matter what you do or say, you are _powerless _to stop me. I _own _you. You live, die, and _suffer _at _my _hands. For the rest of your life. And if you expect to stay alive at all, you will remember that fact and remember your lowly, filthy place in my household."

Hermione stayed in her place on the floor, trying hard to suppress the sobs that tore at her chest. She nodded against the tile.

"Do you understand?" he asked, keeping the air of controlling dominant. Hermione nodded again.

"Y-yes," she whispered, a sob escaping with her words. She viciously fought back the rest of the oncoming tears. Malfoy turned to leave, and paused at the door for one last long look at her quivering, tortured body. The door shut noiselessly behind him.

.

Hermione didn't sleep again that night. If it even _was _night anymore, she thought. She was too afraid of a repeat of earlier. She sat curled on her bathmat, hands wrapped around her legs, head pressed against her knees. She focused hard on suppressing the thoughts of the past twenty-four hours, shouting loudly in her mind potions recipes, describing in detail how to crush, juice, and slice each ingredient. It worked. For awhile.

She got stuck when she realized she didn't know whether blue or yellow moonstone was used in the Draught of Peace, and couldn't remember the difference in their magical properties. She growled, very softly lest Malfoy heard, in frustration, and let her mind wander…

…and very suddenly found herself swamped in images of Jugson, his leering face close to hers, breathing down her neck; of Harry, his tortured body twitching on the platform—Hermione slammed her head backwards into the tub with a dull _thud _against the knot on her head_. _Her vision swam, but the pain mercifully freed of her memories for the moment. She waited for the blood to stop pounding before groggily resuming her potions recapitulation, grudgingly moving on from the Draught of Peace.

She was in the middle of reviewing the preparation of armadillo bile in Wit-Sharpening potion when she heard Malfoy's voice and the _click _of the door opening. She shrank back into her corner; how long had it been? She noted with disgust at herself that her level of fear was already escalated. Before he could swing open the door, she was on her knees, breathing shallowly. _Please let him be quick!_

As usual, Malfoy took his time before saying anything to her.

"Good girl." She burned in humiliation at his clear sarcasm.

"Get up." She rose hesitantly to her feet, hugging herself. She turned her face away from his; she hated that she couldn't look at him. He led her out of the bathroom, and she followed, senses alert and nervous. He halted suddenly next to his recliner, and she backed as far away from him as she could. He pointed to the far corner of the room, where a standing privacy shade hid a small portion of the wall. She looked at it confusedly, but still could not bring herself to look at him.

"As you know, you will be staying here for the rest of your life as a slave to the Malfoy name." The blunt words made her heart ache and her stomach twist sharply. "And I've decided that you cannot stay in my bathroom for however long…or short… a time that may be." Hermione's eyes flickered to the ground, her body tense. "Nor, however, can I allow you to roam my manor." He watched her closely, and she looked determinedly at the floor. "You are confined to this room. You may not touch anything without my permission. I warn you once, girl, that escape is futile. The doors and windows are warded specifically to you. It would be…_unwise_…to try any of them."

Hermione's mind churned. She didn't know if she should be grateful or scared. On one hand, she'd graduated to a larger prison cell, one with books. That had some advantages. On the other hand, staying in this room meant seeing much, much, _much _more of Malfoy, and she shuddered involuntarily. She could feel Malfoy's gaze upon her, and she wished he would go away.

"Do you understand, Mudblood?" His voice was cold and steady, as always. She nodded her head and opened her mouth as if to say something, then hurriedly shut it, thinking better. He noticed.

"If you have a question and can hold that pertinent tongue of yours, you may ask it." Hermione felt disgusted at the small bubble of joy she felt at being allowed to speak. Her mind whirled; she had a million questions. But the one she wanted to ask at the moment…

"A-am I…am I allowed to read the books?" She hated how much her voice shook, how afraid she was of him. _It was just one curse! _Her pride drowned in the knowledge that he could do much, much worse to her any time he liked. She tried to blend into the wall under his scrutiny. Malfoy was staring thoughtfully, considering her. After an eternity,

"You have no right to ask that."

Hermione's heart sank in disappointment and renewed fear, frustrated. Would she be punished now for asking? She hadn't asked anything inappropriate or said anything rude! He'd _told _her to ask, for Merlin's sake! She drew her lips in a tight line, angry, waiting for punishment. If he thought she'd take it without a few choice words, he had another think coming, no matter how much he terrified her. The punishment didn't come however and a tense moment passed.

Suddenly, loudly, her stomach voiced its opinion of her fast. She blushed and looked at the far corner of the room, wishing herself behind the dressing curtain.

"I will have Smidgey bring you food." And he left her standing awkwardly outside the bathroom. After a minute of visually surveying his bedroom, she tentatively skittered across the rug, giving the bed, dressers, and recliner a large berth. She peered behind the dressing screen. A small futon with a thin, dark green sheet was the only thing behind it. A low table sat just to the right of the screen. As she looked at it, there was a _pop _and food suddenly appeared.

_Well, that was well-timed, _she thought. The food was plain; bread and cheese, water, a banana. Soup. Foods she thought she could probably keep down. She knelt at her table and awkwardly handled eating with her left hand. When she could eat no more, she had left over most of the bread and the banana. She stashed these under her futon, unsure when she'd next eat.

She took to examining the room in more detail. She caught sight of her back in the three-paneled mirror and grimaced at herself. Malfoy had been telling the truth before; it was literally in shreds, most likely from her wounds being scraped and ground against a wall by—_NO_, she thought fiercely. _You will not think of last night. _She moved away from the mirror and sat on the floor near the enormous, ornate window. She remembered Malfoy's words,

_It would be…unwise…if you tried the windows and doors. _They were hexed, then, probably. She made sure not to touch the pane. She could see outside. _Outside. _She sighed, missing what it felt like to have the wind blow back her hair. She watched the falling leaves toss in the breeze. A squirrel made a territorial squawk and she watched as it froze in place, its forepaw resting on its stomach, rising and falling with the movement of its diaphragm.

Nature was, in its own way, like a Muggle film, and she watched for hours until she started to drift off to sleep. She awoke with a start less than a minute later, feeling as though she were falling. She resettled and closed her eyes again…only to reopen them with a jolt minutes later. When it became frustratingly clear she would not be able to sleep, she stood from her spot on the floor. It was dark out now, and with no moon she couldn't see anything outside. She stretched, bored, and looked yearningly at the books on the shelf. She was tempted, _so _tempted, to read one, just one!

Her thoughts were quashed when she heard footsteps in the hall outside the door. Malfoy! She dove behind her screen, not wanting to face him. A sudden thought crossed her mind—was she still expected to kneel when he entered? A probable yes.

She heard the footsteps stop outside her door. Moving until she was just barely visible outside the screen, Hermione knelt. The plush carpet felt infinitely more comfortable to her bruised knees than the hard tile bathroom floor.

The door clicked open and Malfoy strode in. His eyes searched until he found her kneeling form, and Hermione held the small satisfaction that he probably thought she'd forget so he'd have an excuse to hurt her.

"Get up, Mudblood," he said. He sounded…tired? Hermione rose and peered at him fleetingly through her mass of hair. He was not looking at her, eyes fixed on a point above his bed. He seemed distracted and frustrated by something. Abruptly, he turned and entered the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.

It was then that Hermione realized she had left her real clothes, and more importantly her _note _from Ron, in the bathroom. She clamped a hand to her mouth and silently cursed herself a fool. Her heart beat faster. What if he just decided to…to banish her clothes, or something? She couldn't bear the thought. She padded over to the door and listened hard; aside from the running of water she didn't hear any spells, or words at all, for that matter, that indicated a spell. She heard the splash of him getting into the tub, and withdrew from the door. _They're okay_, she thought, though worry still nagged her. She chastised herself, _Think of something else or it's back to Potions for you!_

She saw the bookshelf, how close she was to it. She eyed the book spines longingly.

Well…

Malfoy hadn't said she couldn't read the _titles_, had he? She wandered over; there must be hundreds of books here. She started at the top left of the bookshelf. _Asiatic Anti-Venoms. _She'd read that one already. _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi, Fifth Edition. _She continued on. She had just skimmed the spine of _Theories of Transubstantial Transfiguration_ when the bathroom door opened suddenly and Malfoy stepped out.

Even though she knew she'd done nothing technically wrong, Hermione jumped in fear. Uncertain if it was required of her, she knelt, looking hard at the ground. Malfoy was so _close_. It made her sick, and she wondered distantly if her dinner would stay down. She felt his stare on the back of her neck.

"I am certain that I did not give you permission to read those books," he stated icily.

"I didn't!" she protested before she could stop herself. She looked up at him, afraid but solid in her defense. "I'm not reading them—just looking at the covers! You didn't say I couldn't _look_, and I'm not touching any of them!" She realized this was the first time she'd looked directly at him since he'd crucioed her, and she felt new waves of fear and apprehension course through her as the memory of being tortured tried to resurface. She held his gaze though, jaw trembling.

"And now you speak when not permitted to do so," he said, his voice softly menacing.

She blanched. _When will you ever learn, you stupid girl! _her mind screamed at her in rage.

With resigned, miserable eyes, Hermione lowered her head in anticipation of punishment. _Please please please don't let him use the Cruciatus Curse, _she begged silently.

When she heard the retreating footsteps, she looked up hesitantly and found Malfoy pouring a glass of red wine. He relaxed into the recliner and with a muttered word a fire blazed in the hearth. He stared intently into the flames.

Hermione watched him warily, still kneeling. She wasn't sure she was allowed to get up, and didn't feel she could risk the punishment by asking. After a few long minutes she was bored.

She turned away from him, craning her head awkwardly, eyes searching the bookshelf, landing on _Theories of Transubstantial Transfiguration. _She continued to read book titles, listening closely for any movement Malfoy made. After what she estimated to be two very long hours, she had read all the book titles three times and was by no means sated. There were some very rare books on his shelf that she wanted desperately to read. She shifted uncomfortably, losing feeling in her legs.

Several minutes later Malfoy stood from his recliner, empty wine glass in hand. She watched him out of the corner of her eye. He caught sight of her and frowned slightly in displeasure. _Finally remember your prisoner then? _she thought a bit snidely. She was tired. She shifted again, wondering how late it really was.

"Go to bed Mudblood," Malfoy ordered stiffly.

Hermione struggled immediately to her feet, legs aching and protesting with pins and needles. She staggered halfway across the room, aware that Malfoy was watching her. She moved as close to the wall as she could, as far from him as possible. She reached her screen and clung to it, maneuvering herself behind it and collapsing on the futon. She lay there for a spell, allowing feeling to fully return to her lower limbs.

She could hear Malfoy moving about, and then suddenly, the room went dark. She froze on her futon, listening to him shift about in his bed. It was the first time since her capture that she'd spent the night in actual darkness. The bathroom had always been lit. She felt her heart rate spike in newfound fear of the dark. _Great, another phobia to add to your growing repertoire, _she thought tersely. _You're being ridiculous. _

Carefully, she repositioned herself on the futon; it really was a wonderful improvement from her thin bathmat. She forced herself to focus on the feel of the mattress, the texture of the sheet, until she could pinpoint her focus upon herself. And she breathed. In. Out. In. Out. In….she drifted to sleep.

_She was surrounded by angry, shadowy figures. People she knew, but they were nameless and faceless. They crowded toward her, and she backed away, frightened. They advanced still and she stepped backwards and fell—_

Hermione woke with a start and a gasp, body involuntarily jerking and rustling the sheets. She covered her mouth to quiet her panting, hoping, praying, that Malfoy did not hear her. She lay absolutely still. She listened hard and heard nothing.

She relaxed after a few minutes, exhausted, but she could not get over the new worry nagging at her mind: What if she had nightmares again? What if she awoke Malfoy _again_? She would be punished, and she would do anything to prevent being attacked with the Cruciatus Curse for a second time. Her muscles still twitched slightly from the last attack. She leaned her side against the back of the futon.

_Don't you fall asleep, don't you DARE fall asleep! _She yelled at her tired self. _Come on. _She tried to think._ List five known uses of Murtlap Essence and its influence on different types of potions. Discuss the effects timing has in adding the ingredient and give three examples. _It was a N.E.W.T. practice question, and it took Hermione over twenty minutes to coherently think through her answer. It was mentally tiring, but it kept the memories at bay, and was the alternative to risking sleep.

It had been about four hours, she estimated, of going over N.E.W.T. problems when she suddenly remembered her clothes again. She toyed with the idea of getting up to retrieve them. What if she woke up Malfoy? But she needed her clothes. She needed Ron. Well she didn't really, her practicality admonished. But suppose on another night she had to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night? He couldn't possibly punish her for that. Could he? She reasoned that she had the right to go the bathroom, and after several minutes of coaxing, she convinced herself to get up.

Making as little noise as possible, Hermione shifted the sheet off of her body and slid out of the futon, bare feet touching the carpet. She peered around her screen; she could just make out Malfoy's figure in the enormous bed. Heart thumping hard, she tentatively padded across the rug. _This is a bad idea, _her instinct groaned in misery.

She made it halfway across the room before a spell hit her and slammed her into the wall. She screamed from surprise and pain. The lights flickered on. Malfoy was out of bed, barefoot and dressed in his silk pajamas, wand pointed directly at her. She gulped. Not good.

He stalked toward her, eyes furious.

"_Mudblood_," he seethed, "Why are you not asleep?" He glared at her. "Do not tell me you were trying to _escape._" He was absolutely livid, voice dripping with dangerous anger. Hermione answered him through her pants of pain,

"N-no! No, I wasn't escaping, I swear it! I was awake and I realized that…that…" she trailed off.

"That what?" he prompted, voice silky smooth and dangerous. She blushed, feeling intensely stupid, mind racing still from panic of being caught. She considered lying to him about the clothes, but she knew she was a terrible liar and didn't want to risk incurring his wrath more than she already had.

"That I…that my clothes were still in the bathroom," she finished lamely. _Stupid, stupid stupid! _Her mind whispered to her. Malfoy was staring at her. She wondered how long he would crucio her this time.

"I see…" he drawled slowly, "And it was…_imperative_, that you retrieve your clothes right this moment?" Her blush deepened and she gave a barely perceptible nod of her head, feeling foolish and scared. _You couldn't have just waited until morning, could you? _She was furious with herself for listening to exhausted and muddled reasoning earlier.

"Why were you not asleep, Mudblood?" he asked sharply. Hermione wondered if she could drown in waves of embarrassment. She looked miserably down, not wanting to face him.

"Answer me, girl," he growled when she did not answer quickly enough.

"I…," she started, beating herself for being so stupid and getting up in the middle of the night. The thought crossed her mind: had she _also _disobeyed him for not sleeping when he had told her to earlier? Merlin, she was doomed. "I w-was afraid," she said at last, nearly choking as a panicked sob clawed up her throat.

"Of?" The question came quickly and directly, interrogating.

"Of…of the d-dark, and o-of…you." He raised an eyebrow at her, smirking slightly.

"I _was _asleep," he reminded her sadistically. Hermione glared at the floor, not having the courage to glare at him.

"I—I couldn't sleep," she said, rushed, "And I didn't want to…to…wake you up again with my nightmares." She said this last mumbled under her breath.

"I didn't catch that, what did you say?" Lucius drawled. Hermione gritted her teeth.

"I said I didn't—I _couldn't-_risk waking you from my nightmares," she said, resolutely staring at her feet. When she risked a quick glance up, he was frowning at her, an intent look on his face. She wished he would go away.

"You slept silently after I left you last night," he stated plainly.

"I didn't sleep last night after you left," she replied in a whisper, mind ghosting over the memory of his torture. He was silent.

She was suddenly released from her magical hold against the wall, and she landed unceremoniously on wobbly legs. There was silence. She glanced up at him, unsure what to do.

"If those ratted clothes are so important to you, go get them." He gave her a direct look, no particular emotion displayed on his face or in his voice.

With a nervous look at him, Hermione fled to the bathroom and gathered her clothes. She held the bra closest to her chest, her relief ebbing away some of her fear.

Malfoy was waiting for her when she crept out of the bathroom. She crossed the room apprehensively, hugging her clothes to herself. She paused in front of him, as close to the wall as she could get. She looked at him uncertainly, wondering why he was still up. Would she be punished now? He was so hard to predict.

"Come here," he demanded of her. She took three uncertain steps forward closer to him, her unease growing. Her hold tightened around her ragged clothing. He held out his hand; she flinched at the movement, but then realized that he held out to her a vial of clear purple liquid she recognized immediately.

"A sleeping potion," he confirmed noncommittally. "Take it and do not disturb me again, do you understand me, Mudblood?" There was a chilling warning in his voice. She nodded, wrought with overworked emotions. Confused that he would give her the potion. Shocked that she wasn't being punished. Relieved that she had her clothes. Worried and fearful as she always was around him.

"Thank you," she whispered after a long pause, and received a disdainful look in return. She retreated behind her curtain, downed the bottle, and fell into a mercifully dreamless sleep. She would ponder his actions toward her later.

* * *

-twiddles thumbs- I'm sorry if your'e confused? But I'm glad I finally got them talking, sort of. If you have questions or anything let me know and I'll try to clear it up in the next chapter. Yes this is a ploy to get you to review. Anyway, I go back to school tomorrow, so from here on out quick updates are in question :_( I'll try my best!

Covalently yours,

Elemental-Analysis


	7. An Interlude With Snape

Note: This chapter has been EDITED . It's a minor line that has no impact on the overall story, just something that was brought to my attention that's been bugging me all semester.

Disclaimer applies here as much as anywhere else.

* * *

When Hermione awoke the next morning, she was stiff and sore. She felt groggy; her teeth were slimy and her breath tasted like stale sleep. She moved to get up, but halted immediately when she felt something tear painfully at her back. Tears sprung to her eyes, making her sneeze in surprise.

It took a few moments to figure out that some of the wounds on her back had closed partially overnight; and that at some point in her sleep she must have draped the sheet over her back, and the platelets of blood sealed her back to the fabric. After no small amount of worry and trepidation, she drew a breath and held it, clenching her teeth as she sat up, drawing the sheet around her. She tried tentatively to pull a corner of the sheet off her back, but it was like ripping off a scab and she gasped in pain. She clamped a hand over her mouth, realizing that Malfoy was likely in the room.

He wasn't. Apparently he was an early riser, or else she had slept late, for there was no one in the room when she peered around the corner of the privacy shade. The door to the bathroom stood open and it, too, was vacant.

As she stared at the bathroom, the thought occurred to her that maybe she could soak the sheet off; it couldn't make it hurt any more than it already did, she reasoned.

So, wrapping the sheet carefully around her body, Hermione rose and shuffled to the bathroom. She shut the door, lest Malfoy came back, and eased the green dress off her shoulders. She could feel a few of the cuts on her back splitting open.

When the tub was filled with warm water, Hermione eased herself in with the sheet. She hissed at the feel of water on her back; she'd forgotten how much that hurt. Groaning in pain, she clutched the edges of the tub hard with her hands. She tried to relax.

When the sharp, pounding pain had finally subsided to a monotonous, dull thud, Hermione tried shifting the sopping sheet around her. The corners pulled free, but much of her back was still sufficiently glued. So she waited. And waited, pulling the sheet away little by little. When the cloth at last pulled free of last cut, the water was dark pink with blood, but Hermione beamed with triumph through her tears.

She pulled herself out of the bath, dragging the drenched sheet out with her. She let it hang on the lip of the tub as she grabbed a towel. She patted her arms, legs, stomach and face dry, and very carefully dabbed her back in the most unwounded places. She rubbed her hair briefly with the towel, wishing desperately for a hair tie. She dressed herself carefully, watching her back in the mirror to prevent accidentally touching a cut. The wounds had started to bleed freely again, to her chagrin. She felt slightly dizzy looking at herself. She knew she wasn't overly squeamish, so she concluded that the pink bathwater contained more of her blood than she had cared to lose.

Next, she grimly attended to the sheet. She drained the tub and rinsed the sides to get rid of the last of the blood off. She wrung out the sheet; it was hard work, and her arms shook by the time she was finished. She hoisted the still-heavy cloth into her arms and went to the door, ready for a nap.

It was locked. Panic surged in her chest for a frightening moment; Malfoy had locked her in again! She shrank away, feeling her stomach drop. She couldn't stay in this room again, couldn't! Not after just gaining such precious freedom. She felt uncontrollably despaired and betrayed that Malfoy had been toying with her all along; could he not let her alone? For just a day? Her chest constricted. There were so many unwanted memories of this room, and now that the door was locked it was no longer a bathroom, but her prison yet again, reviving those memories. She fought them down, hard.

It took awhile for common sense to reassert itself. When it finally did Hermione felt the confusing mix of relief, uncertainty and foolishness. In all probability, Malfoy had forgotten that he'd spelled the door against her, and she'd been thoughtless enough to close the door without considering it. That seemed much more logical. Much easier to accept.

Her heart sank slightly then; she would probably be punished for this. She probably wasn't allowed to have taken a bath, or something inanely stupid like that. Not that a whipping could be more painful than ripping off the sheet without soaking it. That made the disobedience worth it.

Hermione settled herself on the floor, draping the sheet over the towel rack to dry. There was nothing to do but wait for Malfoy. She passed the day with trepidation and dread breeding in the pit of her stomach. Occasionally she wiped blood from her dripping back, though despite her efforts the green dress was steadily staining dark brown.

When she finally did hear noise from the bedroom, she was half in a doze. She'd fallen asleep several times that day, waking up with that horrible falling feeling every time. She snapped out of her sleep and sat up rigidly. Not only was there noise outside the bathroom door, but there were _voices._As in plural. As in more than just Malfoy. Two male voices. Two Death Eaters. Hermione felt sick; what if it was Jugson? Her stomach churned. She heard Malfoy's voice, an irritated growl. _He's looking for me._She whimpered quietly, wrapping the damp sheet around her knees, twisting it in her fists.

All too suddenly, the door to the bathroom swung open, banging against the wall. She squeezed her eyes shut tight, flinching. Her heart beat loudly in her ears. It seemed like an eternity before she had the courage to open her eyes again. Malfoy was looking directly at her and she had a sudden flashback to the night he punished her with the Unforgiveable. The same look that he wore then was on his face now. Impassive. She shuddered violently, seeing her body writhing on the floor in front of her. Her vision went hazy, her hearing muffled. She registered that Malfoy was speaking. To her?

"Mudblood." Then, more vehemently, "_Mudblood._" Yes, to her then. She swam up from her suffocating memory, staring at his feet. She unconsciously tightened her hold on the sheet. She flicked her eyes up to his face for the briefest of moments, acknowledging his voice. She forced herself to breath. Malfoy spoke again.

"Explain yourself." Her mind worked slowly. A command. Permission to speak? Yes. Explain. Explain which part? She was lost in thought a moment too long, earning her a growl. Her mouth flew open to speak before he could say anything further.

"Wait! No, I—I didn't mean to disobey, I just had to—had to take the sheet off and—it was stuck! And so I needed the water and then you didn't unlock it!" Her babble hardly made sense out of context, and at his dour look and intimidating silence, she took a deep breath and tried again. _Focus._

"When I w-woke up this morning, th-the sheet was stuck to…to my back," she looked up at him hesitantly before looking back quickly at his feet. "I guess…the blood dried overnight and the sheet stuck to the wounds," she continued quietly. She didn't want to look at him. "I didn't…I used the tub to soak off the dried blood so the sheet would detach easier. I had shut the bathroom door. I didn't realize it was still spelled to lock itself." She was staring very, very hard at his shoes.

It dawned on her then that she wasn't kneeling as she should be before him. Feeling ill, she rolled forward onto her knees; the movement sent her head spinning again. She bowed her head. Her arms were shaking from exhaustion. He didn't speak. _Say something, dammit!_Her mind was panicked in a semi-delirium.

"Go to your cot, Mudblood," he said, finally. There was no discernable malice in his voice, which scared her. Cool, plain, practicality. Detached, emotionless. _Easy-to-torture mode,_she couldn't help but think_._She rose with trepidation, wobbly, clinging to the sink for support. She stumbled over the sheet as she made her way out of the bathroom. With weak strength, she balled it up tighter in her arms. Malfoy stood sentinel in the doorway. She squeezed herself against the wall, holding her breath as she edged past him.

Her curtained corner seemed miles across the room. Her eyes traveled wearily from the left to the right and froze for a moment. There was a figure in the corner by the bookcase. The second voice. Long, dark robes. Black, lanky hair. Glittering eyes. A hooked nose.

Snape.

Hermione suppressed a shudder and her anger with less difficulty than she'd expected. All she wanted to do was lie down. Blood loss, Hermione thought dizzily, made some things much simpler. She started slowly across the room. She'd almost reached the curtain when she tripped again over the sheet, which had managed to become disentangled from her arms, and fell to the floor.

She didn't have the energy to get up. But the shade was _so close._ She lifted her head. _Just a few more feet…_Slowly, she reached out with her stump, dragging herself across the floor. She crawled the rest of the way behind the curtain and rested her head on the futon, not having the will to drag herself up onto the mattress.

She heard the two Death Eaters talking—no, arguing, she thought distantly; they were murmured voices in her ears. Her eyes drooped.

She didn't expect the sudden rustling of a robe brushing up against the shade. She jumped, startled, as Snape knelt down beside her. With a quiet mutter from the potions master, she was levitated, momentarily weightless, onto the mattress, stomach down. Her face turned towards her former professor. His wand was pointed at her back, a gesture that made anxiety rise up slightly even through her grogginess.

With another muttered word, she heard the seam at the bottom of the back of her dress slice open, revealing her entire bare back to him. Panic shot through her. She struggled away clumsily, flashes of Jugson in her mind. Surely _Snape_didn't want…She panicked, pushing herself towards the wall with the last dregs of her energy. She looked at him with wide, slightly dilated eyes.

He stared back at her impassively, though his wand was lowered.

"Stop that at once, Miss Granger," he clipped in his usual, no-nonsense voice. "I am not here to hurt you. You _must_ lay down so I can attend to your wounds. _Now_."

That was as much assurance as she was going to get, and his tone left no room for argument. Slowly, watching him with distrustful eyes, she eased herself back down into her laying position. His wand was pointed at her back again. She wanted to close her eyes and block it out like she did everything else, but she forced herself to watch him.

He murmured under his breath and she felt sudden icy coldness nipping at her back, seeping deep into her mutilated flesh. She gasped in surprise, and then panted in pain as the ice burned in her back. She breathed hugely and slowly through her nose. The coldness faded slowly, eventually replaced by numbness. She shrugged her shoulders experimentally. There was almost no pain, to her relief and wonder.

"Do not move too much," Snape's commanding tone cut through her thoughts, and she fell still. Snape continued, lecturing, "The spell is merely a minor healing charm, and is mostly used for its numbing effect. Your wounds are far from healed."

Hermione nodded. _Like Novocain,_she thought, and immediately missed her parents with a powerful surge of homesickness. Her stomach lurched, and she forced herself to latch onto Snape's next words to suppress her emotions.

"Sit up," was the order, and she complied. She was handed a measured vial of rust-brown liquid.

"Blood-Replenishing Potion," she commented absently, accepting and uncorking the ampoule. A metallic scent wafted towards her and she wrinkled her nose slightly.

"Correct," was the stiff reply.

_Five points to Gryffindor,_thought Hermione cynically, _but probably not, because it's Snape._She swallowed the sluggish liquid, grimacing slightly at the sharp tang. She felt the clarity of her mind begin to return within minutes. She looked at Snape.

_Why is he here?_She thought. _As_ _Malfoy's local healer?_She thought not; Malfoy had _said_that he liked to make sure his punishments were lasting. He'd meant it. Hadn't he?

"Why are you here?" she voiced her thoughts bluntly, wondering as soon as she said it if she was allowed to speak freely with him. Snape didn't seem about to punish her though, so she relaxed. Slightly.

"Lucius asked me to come," he replied, face betraying nothing.

"Not for my back," Hermione pressed, certain of this. Snape frowned at her slightly.

"No," he acquiesced, "though we…agreed…based on your current state that some amount of healing needed to be put into that as well." Hermione was willing to bet that Malfoy had been less than agreeable to this. _The arguing from behind the curtain,_she thought. Snape had had to convinced him.

"Thank you," she said quietly, meaning it. But then, "So why are you here?" she asked this with a frown.

"You have not been sleeping," Snape said in reply. As if that explained everything.

Hermione's eyebrows drew up in surprise. _What would Snape…or Malfoy, for that matter, care whether or not I've been sleeping well?_she wondered.

"I…I just had a…a nightmare," she said hesitantly, confusedly, thinking _and got damn well punished for it, too._

"No," came Snape's silky voice. "The nightmare aside, you physically _cannot_ fall asleep, can you?" Hermione stared at him, lost in thought momentarily. Now that he mentioned it...

"...No," she said at last, "I can't. Every time I doze off, I- I have dreams of falling, and I jerk awake….but how did you…?"

"A symptom of overexposure to the Cruciatus curse," Snape supplied dismissively. Hermione processed this for a moment. It made sense, time-wise. She hadn't been able to stay asleep on her own since the punishment, so it was possible that the curse was the cause.

"Overexposure?" she echoed. Wasn't mere exposure to the horrible curse already overexposure? No one should ever have to endure that. _She_ certainly felt overexposed to it. Snape nodded curtly.

"Normally symptoms of overexposure occur when the curse is continued after the victim has passed out—when he or she has reached a limit, so to speak." Hermione frowned at this.

"But I didn't pass out," she remarked. Snape exhaled slowly through his nose.

"I said _normally_, Miss Granger. You, as usual, are _abnormal_." Hermione didn't rise to the taunt and let him continue. "The first experience with the curse does sometimes risk early overexposure," Snape admitted, eyes unwaveringly fixed on her. "However…I believe your natural…resistance…to the curse is what caused it."

"Resistance, sir?" Hermione asked, perplexed.

"You were under the Cruciatus Curse for nearly ten minutes, Lucius told me, and did not pass out."

Hermione's eyes widened. Ten minutes! _That horrible, awful bastard,_she thought venomously.

Snape was not finished. "Most people do not last so long without reaching their limit," he said, eyes narrowing slightly, "and Lucius was intent that night on punishing you to your limit—the moment when you should have blacked out."

"And by the time he realized I wouldn't pass out, I was already pushed past my limit," Hermione concluded, "thus the overexposure. And the symptoms." Snape nodded.

"Yes," he said, a bit distantly. Hermione was inwardly seething, cursing Malfoy to all levels of Hell, when something occurred to her. She had no way of knowing for sure, but it seemed to her that Malfoy's giving her the sleeping potion, his bringing Snape to help her…was a way of—apology? Admittance that he was wrong. Maybe that's why he didn't punish her for getting up last night. And again today. That made her feel…something. Something she didn't want to think about right now, not when she had a talkative information source in front of her. Well, somewhat talkative, anyway.

"Will the symptoms go away?" she asked.

"With time, yes," answered Snape. "Sometimes months."

"And until then…?" Hermione asked with trepidation.

"I will supply you with Dreamless Sleep Potion," Snape replied. "The specific symptom of overexposure allows you only short periods of rapid eye movement, the dreaming stage of sleep. This is why you dream and wake up so suddenly." Hermione nodded her understanding.

"The Dreamless Sleep Potion will allow you to essentially bypass dreaming, in the sense that it prevents you from acknowledging the dreams you are having, and you will not remember them when you wake up."

"It is known that dreams rehash incidences of emotional stress," he elaborated, knowing she was about to ask, "It is a venue for the mind to process and sort through memories. However, the emotional trauma accompanied with overexposure to the Cruciatus Curse is far too great for the mind to process all at once. Thus, it wakes you up as soon as you fall asleep, and you are caught in the vicious cycle of needing to replay the scene and not being capable of doing so without destroying you. The potion will allow the dream to play out without your knowing."

It was Hermione's turn to fall silent, considering what he'd said

"How often did you fall asleep today?" he inquired, abruptly deviating from the lecture. Hermione furrowed her brow slightly.

"Uhmm...I didn't exactly count, sir, but I think around six or seven times," she ventured carefully. She saw his lips purse thinly, and something like anger passed over his face. She thought she might have imagined it because it smoothed out to his normal impassive mask in less than a second.

"In that case…" he rummaged around in a black bag Hermione hadn't noticed before. _Really, just like a house-call doctor,_ she thought absently. He extracted four glass test tubes from the bag, smaller in size than the vial of Blood-Replenisher, and a stand to set them in.

"Drink half of one flask every night before you go to bed," he instructed. "I will have to increase the potency more than I had expected. I will be back in a week." He set the stand and vials under the foot of her bed and started to rise, business complete.

"Professor?" Hermione asked, not quite sure if it was entirely appropriate to address him as such still. Snape turned, an inquiring look upon his face. She continued, rushed, "When brewing the Draught of Peace, should blue moonstone or yellow be added in the third stage of brewing?" Snape gave her a look she couldn't decipher. She blushed lightly. "I was just…passing the time going over N.E.W.T. questions and…I couldn't remember," she explained, though he hadn't asked for an explanation.

"In this case, Miss Granger, the color of the moonstone is not of consequence, as it is a fairly resilient potion. Both blue and yellow moonstone would be acceptable. It is only for more refined potions, such as Wolfsbane, that the color is of importance. In the case of Wolfsbane, red moonstone is essential, or else the potion will not complete the second stage of its brewing."

"Oh," said Hermione softly, accepting the answer. "Why?" she pressed, wanting to know more. This time the look he gave her was stern.

"I do not have the time, Miss Granger, to lecture you on the lengthy process of selecting potions ingredients, especially when you no longer have need for N.E.W.T preparation."

The comment hurt more than it should have, simultaneously reaffirming the extinction of her past life and asserting the hopelessness of her future. Hermione looked downwards, suddenly feeling hot and emotional. With an effort, she boxed those emotions away.

"If that is all…?" Snape left the question hanging. Hermione nodded.

"Yes…thank you," she said almost inaudibly. She caught the billow of black robes out of the corner of her eye and felt the small accompanying breeze. She heard Snape conversing with Malfoy, and the sound of the door shutting as he left. She felt very suddenly the pang of losing her company. Even if it was Snape. It had been so very long, she thought, since she'd talked to anyone. Though rationally, her mind supplied, it could not have been much longer than a week, it still felt longer. Decades longer. Her heart ached in her loneliness. How could she continue to live like this? She sat curled up, head and right shoulder against the wall. A few tears slipped disobediently down her cheeks, and she swiped them away angrily.

"Touching," came that loathsome voice. Hermione nearly jumped out of her skin; she hadn't heard Malfoy come over. Struggling, she pushed herself into a kneeling position, catching the last of her tears on her forearm. She waited for him to say or do something, blinking rapidly. She half-expected to be punished, now that Snape was gone. When he spoke, it sent chills up her spine.

"You have been keeping secrets from me, Mudblood," he said, not giving her permission to rise from her position. Every muscle in Hermione's body froze. _Ron's__note!_She thought frantically, _He knows!_Her mind panicked. _How could he know?_She felt dangerously close to hyperventilating. She glanced at her clothes, neatly folded under her futon. She watched in absolute horror has Malfoy reached down towards them.

"No!" she cried out, unable to control herself. Malfoy stopped, and Hermione bit her lip in fear.

"…No?" he said, voice dangerous. She flinched. "You dare tell me, you disgusting filth, what to do?" She could feel his breath on her exposed neck. She cowered.

"N-no, I just…I…" What could she say? Her heart was breaking into a million pieces.

"You just…what?" he goaded her. "Thought you could sneak food without my permission?"

It took Hermione a moment to process what he'd said. _The food,_she realized, a tsunami of relief crashing over her, _he's talking about the food I saved from my last meal—he doesn't know about the note!_She felt so overjoyed she could have laughed.

"I..I'm sorry," she panted through her gasps of relief, trying desperately not to show how she felt. Malfoy paused, a gesture great enough to make her sharply reign in her composure. She kept her head down, wondering if she was allowed to speak still. Since he said nothing, she decided she would.

"I just…it had already been given to me and…," her mind worked quickly, "and it didn't feel like stealing since I was expected to eat it anyway…I'm sorry," she finished, crouching lower on her futon in contrition, none of her inner elation showing, "I will not do it again."

Malfoy said nothing for a long moment, considering her apology. _Please please please let him accept it and go away,_she thought.

"I suppose then," replied Malfoy carefully, slowly, "that this means you will not need to be fed tonight."

Hermione could feel her stomach growl in disagreement. A bit of bread and a banana was hardly filling. But she said nothing, her only reaction to clench her teeth at his new game. He left her, and she heard the door to the hallway open and close.

She took a moment before standing, and she hung the still damp sheet over the privacy shade to dry. She doubled checked to make sure Malfoy had indeed left the room before venturing beyond her corner.

She glanced out the window, noting that it was late day; the sun was beginning to set. _Already?_Well, she _was_ starting to feel hungry…she eyed the bread and fruit under her bed. She could hold out a little longer, she decided. She watched the sun set, out of nothing better to do. Snape's comment about her N.E.W.T.s halted, for now, her review questions.

When the last ray disappeared from the horizon, she could no longer ignore her stomach. Not with food available to her. She devoured the overripe banana and mostly stale bread in a matter of minutes, still hungry.

And _bored._Oh, if _only_she could read those books! She paced the room, stopping at the mirror; Snape hadn't lied, most of her cuts were still unhealed, but at least she couldn't feel them anymore. She wondered at the shelf-life of the spell, and when she would start feeling the pain again. She hoped not soon.

It was very late in the evening when Malfoy finally returned. Hermione had been sitting at the window, boredly counting the number of nail heads in the woodwork, when he entered. She knelt silently. The feeling of frustration was becoming too much of an emotion, and she concentrated on folding it up and packaging it away in her mind with the rest of the emotions she wasn't allowed to feel. She breathed evenly through her nose. Malfoy ignored her for a long thirty minutes, and by the time he allowed her up, her wrist and stump ached and her knees had indented in them the design of the carpet. She was getting sick of his games, of this place. She crept behind her curtain and downed half a vial of Dreamless Sleep Potion, her last view of Malfoy sitting in his recliner, sipping his glass of red wine in front of the fire, eyes staring intently at the flames.


	8. Speak

Hello and welcome back to Entropy! It has been one terrible semester, and I am all too excited to direct my energy away from six science courses and an MCAT prep course and back to this story :D I'm worried (I always worry) that I've changed my writing style since the summer. I actually had to reread my story, if you can believe it, because I'd forgotten what I had written XD Oh! If you're interested, I edited a bit of the last chapter-nothing that changes the plot at all, just a science-y mishap that was brought to my attention by a few people. Thanks for your support! Enjoy the story; I hope to finish it soon!

Disclaimer: I don't own HP.

* * *

When Malfoy entered the room that night, Hermione could tell something was different. His stance, rigid and on edge; his eyes, hard and determined. Tonight was not one of leisurely relaxation for Lucius Malfoy. It made Hermione nervous, and she crouched lower in her stance on the floor. If Malfoy was in a bad mood, it would surely be taken out painfully upon her body. She tensed as his eyes alighted upon her.

"Stand, Mudblood," he commanded shortly, and she rocked back on her heels to stand before him. Her body was trembling with adrenaline, and she bit her bottom lip to distract from the anxiety with pain. She steeled herself and then forced her eyes to meet his.

"There is a resistance of the Light survivors," he said to her coolly, watching her closely for a reaction. Hermione's face showed the surprise, and hope, that she felt. She swallowed, uncertain if she was expected to say something, trembling now partly with excitement. If the Light was fighting back…there could still be hope…Her head spun with thoughts.

"I have been ordered by Voldemort to destroy the rebellion." Malfoy's voice cut through her thoughts like a knife. She felt her stomach clench, her breath catching in her throat. Apprehension coiled like snakes within her, eating away at her hope, making her nauseous. Malfoy continued on, in a bored tone,

"I expect the task to take no more than three days." Hermione felt sick. Three days, and how many of the Light's allies would perish at the hands of the Death Eaters?

But something else in Malfoy's sentence caught her attention. Three days. Three days alone? Without Malfoy? Could that be enough time to escape? Certainly enough time to look through the books, to at least _try _to find a way out.

Whatever optimism Hermione had mustered was squelched by his next words.

"Do not think me so stupid as to leave you alone here," he said, eyes flashing. Hermione flinched, but before she could stop herself, she blurted,

"What are you going to do with me?" Her voice cracked from disuse. She saw the corner of Malfoy's lips twitch, and she wondered if she was going to be punished for speaking. How she hated him! She inwardly seethed and braced herself for punishment. Her back was just starting to heal too…

But to her surprise, Malfoy made no move for his wand, hand resting lightly on the snakehead of his cane.

"I am, regretfully, taking you with me." Malfoy answered her question with a slight look of disdain. Hermione took a step back, suddenly defensive.

"I will not fight for you!" Hermione glared at him, arms held protectively about her torso.

"No," Malfoy agreed, "You will not. You will never have wand again, filthy Mudbloods do not deserve them."

If he'd meant for his words to have an emotional impact, then that's exactly what he got. Hermione's emotions blurred together; relief that she wouldn't be forced to fight against the Light, stung from his comment on her heritage, and not owning a wand again….well, that cut deeper than anything. She turned her head away, chin stuck out in determination to not show her hurt. She always knew it was a near impossibility, stump of an arm notwithstanding…but to actually hear it ripped at her heart.

Her peripheral vision caught sight of his robes swishing as he came toward her. She took an involuntary step backwards, legs banging into the bed behind her. Malfoy was inches away from her, closer than he had been in awhile. Hermione's heart rate sped up and she eyed him warily. She could feel his breath on her skin

"Lie down," he commanded. What?

"No!" the words flew from Hermione's lips. No, he couldn't…he wouldn't want…Hermione felt herself panicking, bringing her arms up in front of her face, expecting punishment but needing to protect herself. She hadn't forgotten Jugson. She was good at compartmentalizing her emotions, but not that good. Fear clutched her heart like a vice. She couldn't do this.

"I-I won't!" she said fiercely, though her breathing was shaky. Malfoy sneered at her.

"You wouldn't possibly be thinking I would lower myself to having sex with something as filthy as you." He sounded almost amused. "A hideous Mudblood. Lie down you stupid girl."

The relief she felt was overpowered by her hurt at his remark. Hideous. It hurt to hear that, even if it was just word vomit spewing from Malfoy's mouth. She felt her throat tighten despite herself, eyes and face burning. The emotions of the past five minutes were taking their toll, and she sunk to the bed, lying flat on her back. She kept her feet tightly together, just in case.

She let out a yelp when he grabbed her left ankle and yanked it towards him, wrenching her legs apart. Her panicked protestations died on her lips at the warning look he shot her. He sat on the edge of the bed, her foot in his lap. She propped herself on her elbows, watching him in confusion, nervous. She stiffened when he withdrew his wand from his cane, the black wood shining dully in the light of the room. She jerked her foot back reflexively when he pressed the tip of it to her ankle, just at the pressure point. He held his grip firm though, and began muttering an enchantment.

Hermione began to feel a tingling sensation in her ankle, which grew steadily until it was bordering on painful. Malfoy continued his spell as the pain grew worse, her foot twitching. The feeling spread slowly around her ankle, circling like an anklet. Gritting her teeth against the pain, Hermione tried to keep her foot from jerking, breathing slowly through her nose. _It's not the worst you've felt_, she chanted. She couldn't assuage the fear of what he was doing to her so easily though. What _was_ he doing? Why?

She was panting by the time he finished, and he held her ankle in place as he inspected his work of…whatever...he had been doing. Then he pressed his wand directly into her skin; Hermione hissed as it dug into the tender flesh.

"_Morsus," _he commanded, and Hermione felt pain explode in her Achilles tendon as what felt like a set of fangs dug through the muscle. She cried out sharply, her elbows giving in as she collapsed onto her back. Tears leaked from her eyes. After a moment that lasted forever the pain began to ebb.

Malfoy stood then, unceremoniously releasing her ankle. Hermione remained on her back, breathing heavily. Without sparing her a glance, he disappeared into the bathroom. Only when Hermione heard the faucet of the sink running did she dare inspect her ankle. She held her foot gingerly; it still pulsed with pain.

A black snake was tattooed into her skin, coiling its way around her ankle. Its mouth was wide open, chasing its tail. A red drop of inked blood hung from its fangs. There were no bite marks where Hermione had felt the fangs pierce her. The skin around the anklet tattoo was red and sore. Hermione hated it, letting go of her foot in disgust. This was twice he had marked her, she thought, hand brushing absently over the mottled skin of her brand mark.

Trembling, she pushed herself to the edge of the bed, wondering if she could stand on it. Her entire body still shook from the amount of strain, most of it mental, that she was enduring. She eased herself to her feet, clutching the bedpost for support. She had just finished the process of standing when the bathroom door opened. Her head snapped up, her eyes meeting his.

"What did you do to me?" Hermione demanded. Malfoy's eyes glinted.

"I gave you a collar...of sorts," he replied, "You should thank me that I didn't put it on your neck."

Hermione stared at him. A collar?

"I am _not _thanking you for anything," she spat at him disdainfully, risking the punishment for the sake of her pride. She glared at him, but he only shrugged.

"I will not be so merciful the next time, then. Believe me though, Mudblood, the feeling of the fangs tearing through your carotid artery would make what you felt seem like nothing." Hermione shuddered slightly, and then,

"What was this about?" she asked, "I thought I already had a "collar"." She gestured to her branding, watching him suspiciously.

"Unlike the mark on your forearm, this mark will remain active even if I am unconscious or otherwise preoccupied. It does not require me to activate it," Malfoy replied evenly, resting against the wall now, arms crossed over his chest. "For example, if I say you are not allowed more than one foot beyond the bed, you will not be able to cross past that line, and I will not have to reinforce the barrier." He watched her, eyes glinting. "Go ahead, try." Hermione shot him a look.

"Does it have the same effect the brand does?" she asked, remembering the burning feeling that came from activating the mark.

"No."

Hermione knew it was bait, but her curiosity got the better of her and she took a timid step away from the bed. At her second step she collapsed, screaming, as pain radiated up her legs. Enormous fangs ripped their way down the backs of her thighs, her calves. Tears ran in rivulets down her face as the room swam before her. The snake curled its way up her body, tail constricting about her neck…before it could go any further, Hermione used the last of her strength to heave herself back within the barrier of the spell. The pain stopped instantly and she lay gasping on the floor.

She saw through her tears as Malfoy approached her prone form, a pleased look on his face. She remained on the floor, choking back sobs. She buried her face in the rug. The pain she felt was, true to his word, _nothing _like what the brand caused her. It was so much worse.

"Well, you won't be able to cross very _far _past the line, anyway" he mocked her, towering over her shaking body. She could feel him smirk at her, and wanted nothing more than to punch him in the face. Hard. She remained where she was, breathing labored.

"Can't take too many precautions with the _brightest witch of your age_," he purposely made a jibe at her former title, adding even more mental strain to the poor girl.

Hermione tried to ignore him, and after several long moments and deep breaths, she twisted herself so she could see her legs. There was not a scratch on them, but they were red and hot.

"Stand up Mudblood," said Malfoy, "I give you free reign of the room," he added loftily.

Hermione hardly had the strength to push herself to her knees. Her legs felt like they were made of Jell-O. With the help of the bedpost, she slowly made it to her feet, swaying precariously. She tried to glare at Malfoy, but she was losing focus.

Without warning, Malfoy grabbed her wrist, and then they were apparating, the feeling of being sucked through a straw sending Hermione into welcome unconsciousness.

* * *

When she awoke she was on the ground. She sat up dizzily, brushing away the dirt that had caked to the side of her face and arm.

She looked around her. She was in a dimly lit tent. It was rather Spartan, compared to Malfoy's bedroom. A single bed lay to her right. She noted the still-expensive sheets and plush pillow, and snorted to herself. Rich Pureblood.

A table occupied a corner to her left. A lamp rested, unlit, upon it. A cushioned chair stood next to the table. That was it. Hermione stood, eyes catching sight of a piece of parchment on the table that she hadn't seen from her position on the floor. She picked it up. It read,

_Do not exit the tent._

Charming, she thought. She growled lightly to herself, pacing the short width of the tent. She sat on the chair then, too tired to waste the energy.

She felt helpless, and she hated it. There was no way to escape; no way in hell she was going to exit the tent. The memory of the fangs ripping through her flesh made her shudder. Malfoy was out there, wherever they were, killing her friends. And there was nothing she could do about it. She rested her head and arms on the table, eyes staring blankly at her stump.

She was so tired. Her abused body, her exhausted mind, were spent. She shifted her eyes toward the bed, eyeing it longingly. She didn't have to guess that the bed wasn't for her. She knew. Her eyes fluttered shut, head still against the table.

Not a minute later, they snapped open. Hermione was breathing hard, her heart rate accelerated. She calmed herself slowly from the nightmare, breathing in through flared nostrils.

The sleeping potions. They had forgotten the sleeping potions. She felt like crying. How long were they going to be here for? Three days? How could she stay awake that long? Her throat closed, and the tears came once again. She brushed them away angrily, and stood. There's nothing you can do about it, she told herself, so don't think about it.

She turned instead to the tent flap, eyeing the seam carefully. Could she open it without activating the anklet? She debated for a few minutes before caving, deciding that if the anklet _did _activate, she would only have to withdraw a hand. Surely her reflexes would be quick enough to evade the pain. She approached the flap warily. Careful to keep her hand inside the tent, she pinched the fabric and pulled—

-to find herself flung across the width of the tent, back hitting painfully into the table leg, head cracking against the wood. The wind was knocked out of her, and it took a moment to remember how to breathe. When she could, the pain from her back set it. She could feel trickles of blood from re-opened wounds trailing down her back. She groaned and rolled on her side, breathing in the dirt of the ground and coughing, making her head hurt worse.

For awhile she lay there, trying to make as little movement as possible, trying to breathe softly. The ground was cold. Very cold. She shivered. She could feel her eyes droop again and forced herself to concentrate on the pain to keep her awake. The tent had been warded against her. With two magical collars additionally keeping her in place, Hermione started to wonder how much of a threat Malfoy thought she could possibly pose.

It felt like ages to Hermione, but eventually there was a rustle of fabric in front of the tent, and suddenly a Death Eater swooped inside, black robes billowing. Hermione felt memories of the battle surge through her and in panic backed under the table, frightened. Her head throbbed with the movement, and her back wounds opened more.

The Death Eater removed his mask with a swish of his wand, and Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. It was only Malfoy.

_Only Malfoy?_

What kind of twisted logic brought her to _that _sentiment? She pushed it out of her mind as she pushed herself to her knees, fully aware that his gaze was upon her hiding form. Her body protested, and she tried to put as little strain as she could on her back. Her head pounded.

It occurred to Hermione that before Malfoy's entrance, the tent had been entirely silent; now, however, she could clearly hear sounds of people walking and conversing outside the tent, making her suspect a silencing ward.

"Get up, Mudblood," said Malfoy. Slowly, Hermione forced herself to stand up straight, her back and head protesting. She felt dizzy.

"You tried to open the tent, I take it," deduced Malfoy.

"Yes."

"Did you not read the note, you stupid girl?" He sneered at her.

"The note said not to go _outside_ the tent, which I didn't," Hermione protested, "I just wanted to know where we were. You could've written that the tent was warded beyond my collar, or something," she added, feeling tired and cheated.

Malfoy raised an eyebrow but didn't comment. Hermione let out a breath. Well, she wasn't being punished. That would have been more of a relief if she didn't hurt so much already.

"Much progress was made today," Malfoy said, changing the topic, "The resistance has turned out to be much more pathetic than we thought initially," he added, cleaning his fingernails as he spoke.

Hermione stared at him, not knowing what to say. It was almost like he was initiating conversation—a sick, twisted conversation, but still. She felt her heart tear at his words. Did she know any of the deceased? Who was left that she could know? She cleared her throat.

"Will we be staying as long then?" she asked objectively, determined not to let her emotions show. Malfoy looked up from his hands to her, and amused and slightly surprised look on his face.

"I think," he responded, "that two days should suffice, rather than three." He watched her closely now. When she didn't say anything, he continued in a mocking tone, "Don't want to know how many of your friends I killed? Or how they hardly put up enough of a fight to harm any one of us?"

Hermione shrugged. Every one of her friends was either dead or held captive, as much as she could think.

"No."

Hermione turned her head away from him then, causing her head to swim and black splotches to appear in her vision. She swayed, stump resting against the table for support. Blinking away the spots, she felt—and heard—her stomach growl. She knew Malfoy had heard too, but she refused to be embarrassed about the fact that he was starving her. She gritted her teeth and concentrated on maintaining her balance.

To her surprise, a stool was conjured next to her, and at Malfoy's dismissive wave, she sat. Malfoy seated himself opposite her, withdrawing a small cube from his inner pocket. Hermione watched, intrigued despite herself, as he waved his wand in an intricate pattern over it. The cube gradually transformed into strange blobs, creating a platter of chicken, bread and green beans.

"What is that?" Hermione couldn't help but to ask. How useful those could have been! Back when…

"A ration box," Malfoy replied distastefully, casting a warming spell on the food. Hermione didn't see why he was complaining—it was _food._

She watched Malfoy reach for the food, giving her no indication that she should partake as well. Her stomach growled again, and she sat unhappily with her arms in her lap, hand clenched around her stump. She contemplated the fact that she had talked more to Malfoy today than she had in all the days of the past week combined. Taking this into consideration, in addition to the fact that she hadn't been punished for speaking to him yet, she bulked up her courage to speak.

"Are you going to let me eat?" she asked. It was an intensely awkward question for her, and her gut twisted as her pride protested. Malfoy glanced up. Hermione flinched involuntarily; even though she hadn't been punished so far, there was really nothing preventing him from doing so if he wanted to.

"Should I?" he inquired instead, cane resting against the table, untouched. He was toying with her, not actually interested in her response.

"Yes," she replied vehemently, causing him to smirk at her. She was hungry, damnit! But his next words killed her.

"Beg me," he told her softly, malice in his voice. Hermione blanched. No. No no no no no.

Her stomach growled loudly. Still she hesitated.

"I'm waiting, Mudblood." His voice mocked her. Her face burned in shame. Her pride screamed at her to starve, but her survival instinct urged her to beg. "Unless…you don't want to eat," he finished, taking a bite of chicken. Hermione gave in, survival instincts winning.

"Please," she whispered to him. Malfoy leaned closer.

"What was that? I didn't quite hear you…" he was leering at her, enjoying her misery. Hermione clenched her teeth.

"Please," she gritted out, louder, "Let me eat. Tonight," she added as an afterthought. She didn't look at him, glaring at the table.

"Close, girl," he said, "but not close enough." Her head shot up. What? Her confusion must have been apparent, because he elaborated,

"My title, Mudblood," the scorn was evident. At her gaping stare, he added, "Lord Malfoy will suffice."

_Lord Malfoy will suffice? _Hermione seethed, outraged, but her stomach was still crying out for food. So, forcing down her pride and disgust, she opened her mouth to start again.

"Wait," Malfoy cut her off. She looked at him, annoyed. He leaned back in his chair, a relaxed look on his face.

"On your knees."

Hermione had never felt so humiliated in her life. On her knees, in front of a Death Eater, begging like a dog for food he could easily deny her. She sank to the floor, eyes pricking with tears. It was just _so _degrading. This was worse than being whipped. At least then she'd had no choice but to endure the punishment. Now, though, she was _choosing _to lower herself like this for food. She didn't _technically_ have to, but she _needed _to feed herself.

"Please," she said slowly, hating every second of this, "Please let me have food tonight, _Lord Malfoy_." She spat his title.

Whether Malfoy was going to concede or not was undetermined, as the tent flap was suddenly jerked open. Hermione's head whipped around, causing the room to spin, to see Antonin Dolohov standing in the entrance.

"Lucius, we need to…" the words died on his lips as he spotted Hermione. He grinned lecherously at her. "Good to see you're putting her to good use, Lucius," he remarked, waggling his eyebrows in her direction. Hermione blushed harder at the implication, recognizing the suggestive positioning of herself before Malfoy.

"You were saying, Antonin…?" Malfoy inquired smoothly, ignoring the comment.

"Right," Dolohov returned his focus to Malfoy, "We're convening for a strategy meeting in five minutes."

"Thank you, Antonin," Malfoy replied dismissively. Dolohov gave a short nod and, with a final look at Hermione, left the tent.

When he had gone, Malfoy stood. Hermione focused on his knees, straight ahead of her. Her shame at being forced to beg had only intensified with Dolohov's comments.

"You may eat," he told her stiffly, and in a billow of robes left her alone in the tent. Hermione all but sprang to her feet, grabbing for the food as if it would disappear in the next minute. She had barely taken a bite of bread, however, before her hunger was overpowered intensely by her shame. The bread felt like dust in her mouth. She gagged and choked on a sob as she sank again to the ground, bent double over her knees, and cried. Tears of humiliation tracked down her face, her sobs coming in coughs. She felt so low.

When the tears subsided and she could breathe normally again, Hermione hefted herself back up to the table. She forced down a piece of chicken and some beans, though she was no longer hungry. Afterward she turned away, feeling slightly nauseous. She eyed the bed enviously, wanting nothing more than to crawl completely under the covers and stay there forever.

Though logically she should have wanted to be as far from Malfoy's sleeping place as possible, the bed was so alluring and she was so tired that she approached it anyway. She curled up on the ground near the end of the bed, arms wrapped loosely around her legs. She let her head fall forward onto her knees, jerking backwards every time she started to fall asleep. When that ceased to be effective, she hit her injured head lightly against the bed frame, the pain jolting her awake. She wondered if she could hit it hard enough to knock herself out, but couldn't overcome the self-preservation instinct that prevented self-injury.

She was in a haze of semi-consciousness, caught up in the painful cycle to stay awake, when Malfoy returned. She didn't even notice him until his voice cut through her fog.

"What _are _you doing, Mudblood?" She imagined he was amused, and couldn't care less.

"Tired," she mumbled sleepily, head drooping. She brought it up quickly, the sharp rap to her skull shocking her awake again.

"Go to sleep then, foolish girl." Malfoy sounded irritated, distracted.

"Can't," Hermione muttered, "Potion," she elaborated helpfully, head falling forward again. She heard Malfoy utter something incoherent in an angered tone, and she cringed. Her half-lidded eyes caught sight of his form, his outstretched arm aiming a wand in her direction. Hermione knew that stance. She hugged herself tighter in anticipation of the punishment, bending her head forward with a soft moan. She didn't even know what she had done wrong.

"_Stupefy!" _came the hissed enchantment, and then darkness.

* * *

The first thing Hermione felt when she came around was the intense urge to vomit. The second was the familiar feel of Malfoy's rug beneath her body. _It's like he wants me to ruin it_, she thought, and proceeded to vomit on the carpet. She coughed wetly, eyes opening. She was in the middle of the room. She could see her shade a few yards away. She vomited again, feeling unnaturally sick, dry heaving spit and bile now.

When her stomach stopped turning somersaults on her, she propped herself up on her hand and stump, wondering how she was going to clean up the mess without Malfoy finding out.

"_Scourgify." _Hermione froze. Apparently she didn't have to wait for him to find out. She watched the mess vanish before her eyes as the spell hit the rug.

He was in his recliner, wine glass in hand, watching her casually. She turned slowly to face him, bedraggled body protesting the movement. She watched as he sheathed his wand in his cane. She remembered belatedly to kneel, and shifted agonizingly into position. Her head still hurt, a dull thud in the back of her skull. Her back…well, her back always hurt, and she could feel the tears of skin tissue widen with each movement. Her legs were shaky. She supported her weight on her knees, hand, and stump.

She didn't want to look at him. She still felt so low for begging in front of him, she couldn't stand the thought of looking him in the eye. She stayed where she was, arms and legs shaking with the effort to stay up.

She stayed like that for a long moment, remembering what she could. Begging for food, trying to stay awake, a hissed _stupefy _spell, waking up in Malfoy's room, vomiting profusely. How much time had passed?

"You wish to speak," Malfoy stated, reading her face. She nodded hesitantly. "You may do so," he said languidly. She hesitated still, not wanting to speak but not wanting to at the same time, still ashamed of herself from last night. She was also not used to him _wanting _her to speak, and it scared her more than she wanted to admit. She cleared her throat.

"How much time has passed since you knocked me out?" she asked.

"Twenty-two hours," he replied neutrally, surprising Hermione. She thought a moment.

"Is that why I was so sick just now, or was that something else?" she asked, testing a theory.

"The sickness was a side effect of being _Stupefied _for so long."

Hermione could feel her arms about to give out beneath her.

"Can I stop kneeling?" she asked, feeling the stab at the shredded remnants of her pride. More begging.

"You may sit," was his reply. She fell back gratefully onto her rear, sitting cross-legged. She rubbed her temples for a moment. She finally looked at his face.

"The resistance?" she asked apprehensively, knowing the answer and not wanting to hear it, but needing to anyway.

"Destroyed," he came back evenly, "Completely," he added, making her wince. "There are no survivors. We arrived back thirty minutes ago."

Hermione's heart sunk, even though she knew what the outcome would be, even before they had left. She closed her eyes in a brief moment of silence for the slain, and then met his eyes unblinkingly.

"When do you plan on killing me?"

Malfoy's eyebrows raised up, clearly not expecting the question. Hermione's pensive gaze did not waver. Malfoy considered her for a moment.

"Are you so eager for death already, Mudblood? I've yet but started with you. Would you rather die than be here?"

Hermione shrugged.

"That's not an entirely fair question," she replied honestly. "Do I want to die? Not especially. But do I want to stay here forever with you? No," she said vehemently. She opened her mouth to continue, but then shut it forcefully, lips forming a thin line. Malfoy noticed.

"Something you wish to add?" he inquired loftily.

"No."

"I would like to hear it," he replied. _Yeah right, you'd like the opportunity to beat me for any reason is what you'd like, _Hermione thought.

"You didn't answer my question," she said instead, trying to direct his attention away from her thoughts.

"_You_ are the one evading the question, girl," said Malfoy silkily. "I will kill you when I deem you worthy of death, when it pleases me to do so." There was no emotion in his voice. "Now, you will tell me what you were thinking, or I will _Legilimize _it out of you, and you will be punished thereafter."

Hermione glared at him. If she didn't tell him, she would be punished. If she did tell him, she would in all likelihood be punished. She wished herself a better liar.

"I don't understand your sudden interest in my thoughts," Hermione said tersely, eyes jaded. Malfoy shrugged.

"Indulge me, Mudblood, or I will indulge myself." Hermione's fist clenched. She was _so _sick of his games.

"_Fine,_" she said, "Do you want to know what I was thinking? I was thinking about how much I hated living in a perpetual state of fear and pain- the beatings, the humiliation…not knowing what will happen to me or _why _it's happening to me." She took a deep breath, suddenly needing to say this.

"I don't understand what makes me so horrible in your eyes. My blood? You've _seen _my blood, Malfoy, too many times! Does it really look all that different from yours?" She continued, voice breaking, "I don't understand how you could do such horrible things to me—I'm just a _girl_, a seventeen year-old _girl_, what could I have possiblydone to you to make you do—do _this,_" and she gestured to her entire bruised and battered body, "to me."

Her eyes were tearing up but she pressed on, "I want more than anything to have my old life back. I miss my friends, I miss my parents, I miss Ron—" her voice caught in a sob that she was trying to hold back, "I miss my books, I miss school, I miss food, I miss my _freedom." _Her eyes pleaded with his, though she wasn't sure what for. I just want to go _home_," she ended in a whisper. She hugged knees to herself, uncaring that it caused more wounds on her back to open. She tried to dry her tears on her worn jeans, pressing her face into knees. The pressure caused by her distress only increased the pain in her head; she could feel it pounding with blood flow.

Malfoy was silent, and Hermione simply sat there for a minute.

"I'm finished," she offered eventually. She thought at this point she should feel cathartic relief, but all she felt was anxiety at his reaction, fearful of what he would do to her now, what he _could _do with the knowledge she had given him. It was a far cry from a complete list of everything that was wrong in her life, but it was all she was willing to share at the moment, both with Malfoy and with herself.

Malfoy stirred in his chair, and Hermione, wrapped in her tense emotional state, flinched at the small movement. Her eyes flicked to him and she saw him withdrawing his wand from his cane. Disobedient tears leaked from here eyes, and she wiped them away.

"It's not fair that you punish me now," she said quietly, sounding and feeling defeated. She looked at the ground. "I only did what you told me. You were going to punish me anyway, if I didn't tell you." She paused, closing her eyes in anticipation. "But that doesn't matter to you, does it?" This last was almost inaudible, to herself, "You don't care." She bent her head to her knees, wishing the punishment was over already.

She heard a muttered word and braced herself, but nothing came. No pain, no added stripes to her back. A crackle sounded to her left, and she felt a waft of heat from the suddenly lit fireplace warming her body. She didn't dare look up for a minute, but when she did, he was watching her intently. Her distrustful gaze met his.

"Go to bed, Mudblood," was all he said, turning to the fire.

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Loved it? Hated it? I want to know! Also-and this is such a cop-out to my imagination-but I'm unfortunately running out of ideas for this story. I had a few thoughts at the beginning of the semester, but schoolwork stole my ideas and won't give them back. So! If you have any scenes you want between the two of them...let me know! Otherwise I'll figure something out ^_^

Entropically yours,

Elemental-Analysis


	9. Blood

Hello readers! I'm so sorry this is taking me forever, I've had a horrible time trying to connect to the Internet, and additionally my account is half-broken and won't let me view my story stats -sad panda-

Anyway, here's the newest installment of Entropy!

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She didn't know if it was the sheer exhaustion from the past few days, or the fact that she had taken more than half a bottle of Dreamless Sleep Potion the night before, but Hermione didn't wake up until late in the afternoon the next day. When she did finally rouse, she felt stiff and achy. She groaned lightly as she pushed herself up off her stomach.

Her head still hurt, her back still stung. Things felt normal. When her bleary eyes finally adjusted to being awake, she noted with some surprise the amount of blood on her bed. Had her back bled that much during the night? She thought she'd been careful to keep the sheets off of it this time…

She looked down in her lap and felt her heart sink when she saw that the crotch of her jeans was stained red. So it hadn't been her back. Contrary to what her delusional mind kept insisting, time had not stopped after the battle. She was not caught in some awful time warp. No, time had continued on, and so had her body's monthly cycle. The physical confirmation hurt. She slowly breathed out a frustrated sigh, locking away the painful realization to assess her problem rationally.

What was she going to do about this? She highly doubted Malfoy had any kind of ladies' incontinence items, and she wasn't about to ask him for any. She could just hear the mocking jeers he would make at her expense. She felt the onset of tears-she was always more emotional during this time of the month—and she wiped them away brusquely, taking a deep breath and forcing away her despair; it wouldn't help her situation, she told herself firmly. She stood, collecting the sheets off of her futon, and peered around the corner of her shade. The room was empty. She darted across the rug and into the bathroom.

Ever since she had accidentally locked herself in, Hermione had avoided staying in the bathroom for extended periods of time. Now though, she knew she had no choice but to stay long enough to somehow deal with the blood on her clothes and sheets and come up with a solution to fix this problem.

She took the bathmat and placed it between the door and the frame, so that the door wouldn't be able to shut fully. Then she filled the tub with only a few inches of shallow water, memories of being almost drowned here floating briefly through her head. She closed her eyes and breathed slowly for a moment until her mind was blank, then continued resolutely with her chore.

She stripped off her jeans, underwear, and tattered T-shirt. She hissed as the T-shirt ripped open the cuts it clung to. She threw the lot, along with the sheets, into the bathtub. Her bra she placed carefully behind the toilet, keeping Ron's penned note as far from water as she could. She cleaned herself as best she was able and put on the green dress. She had no change of underwear.

Grabbing the bar of soap, she scrubbed furiously at her dirtied undergarments, needing them to be clean and dry fast. The stains wouldn't all come out, but when she got out as much as she could, she wrung them out and hung them on the towel rack.

She had just started on her jeans when an idea occurred to her.

"Smidgey?" she called tentatively. The elf had all but vanished since he had given her bathing items that one time, not even appearing when he sent her food once every day. She got no response. Hermione tried a few more times, explaining what she needed to the empty bathroom, but Smidgey never answered her. With a sigh, Hermione assumed Malfoy had banned him from talking to her. She continued scrubbing, irritated that she had no one to talk to, no one to ask for help. Not even a house elf. Malfoy was taking away everything from her. She scrubbed harder.

By the time she was finished with the sheets, Hermione's arms ached and her hands were rubbed raw. The bar of soap was nearly nonexistent, and on the whole she was able to conclude that hand soap was not the best tool for this task. She'd had to stop four times to stem the trickles of blood that kept coming, cursing her period over and again. But finally, finally she was done. She draped the sheet over the tub and checked her underwear. They were still quite damp, to her dismay.

It was then that she heard the sound of the all-too-familiar _click _of the bedroom door unlocking, and she felt her heart plummet. He was back? So early? Or was it really that late? She panicked, not knowing what to do.

Well, of course she _did _know what to do, she did it every day. Hoping and praying that he'd be quick and dismissive tonight, she edged her way nervously out of the bedroom, legs clamped tightly together. She knelt awkwardly just outside the bathroom door, which she kept nearly closed. She heard him pause, and her breath caught. It was silly that she be so ashamed and terrified about this, but that's what enslavement by Malfoy did to her.

_Please please don't notice anything, _she thought, not realizing that she was shaking.

But of course Malfoy noticed. Malfoy never failed to notice. She heard him walk towards her until her peripheral vision caught sight of his robes a few feet in front of her.

"Stand, Mudblood," he told her sternly. She did so, feeling a rush of blood leave her as she clambered to her feet, thighs still pressed together. She closed her eyes briefly, needing him to leave so she could help herself.

"Look at me." The command was soft and emotionless. Hermione's heart sank. She hated that tone. She didn't want to obey. But she knew she had to. Hesitantly, her eyes met his, soft brown clashing with unyielding silver.

"What were you doing?" His voice held almost a dangerous tone. _How does he know_, she thought miserably, _how does he always know when something is wrong_?

"I..I was just using the bathroom," she hedged unconvincingly. Malfoy let out a soft, cold laugh at her, making her flinch.

"Your lies are easier to see through than glass," he told her, making her tense even more, "And what have I told you about lying to me…?" His voice trailed off in a hiss, and Hermione's breath quickened in panic. Anger clouded over Malfoy's face.

The next moment happened in a blur. Malfoy stepped quickly toward her, causing Hermione to lurch backwards in fright, banging into the door and tripping over the lip of the bathroom tile. She stumbled into the bathroom, falling unceremoniously to the floor and landing painfully on her side. Her legs sprawled out before her, her dress hiked up ever so slightly a few inches above her knees.

Hermione gasped in horror and tried to cover herself, clamping blood-streaked thighs closed, but the damage had been done. He had seen the blood. He knew. Hermione tried to brace herself for the onslaught of snide remarks, but she couldn't hold back the few disobedient tears that dripped from her eyelashes. They dripped hotly down her face, a combination of physical and emotional pain. She blushed in humiliation, turning her head away from him. She wished he would just go away. Just let her alone. Just this once. _Just like you pray every time_, she scolded herself_._ _It never happens. You aren't that lucky._

"Look at me, girl," he demanded of her, no sarcasm or mockery lacing his voice. He didn't sound angry with her either, which confused her. Heart pounding and stomach twisting with sudden sickness, she obeyed. He was staring down at her hard, eyes unreadable, his looming figure towering over her all too familiarly. Hermione felt a wave of anxiety pass over her; she'd been in this position too many times, endured too much pain from him in this exact way, in this place…

_Don't do this again! _She pleaded with herself, but she couldn't stop it.

She moaned softly in agonized despair, curling compulsively into a fetal position. It wasn't a rational action. It would probably cause her more punishment and pain in the long run, but she couldn't help it; the stress was too great. She shook with apprehension as she waited for the pain she was positive would come.

"_Mudblood," _That voice. "Get up_. _ _Now._" She couldn't disobey that voice. She hugged herself tightly once, and then slowly uncurled herself and stood, forcing herself to breathe. _In. Out. In…_ She ignored the spinning of the room about her.

She finally turned her body to him, arms wrapped around her torso, legs held tightly together. She could feel the sticky blood clinging uncomfortably to her skin.

"Look at me. I will not tell you again." There was a warning in his tone now. Hermione's head snapped up, making her dizzy. She wavered unsteadily on her feet. She looked at him, feeling degraded. He said nothing of her fit, of the blood. Was he waiting for _her _to say something? She tried to read his face. He didn't _look _angry, but that didn't mean anything. He looked…surprised, almost, like he had expected to find something in the bathroom that he had not found.

"I…" she trailed off. Unsure if she was allowed to speak, unsure if she trusted her voice. She closed her mouth, and waited for him to say something instead.

"You are on your period," he supplied for her bluntly. She blushed—it was so personal! Yet he said it as if it were no more interesting than the weather. She hesitated a moment until her breathing was more or less under control, her panic attack over now that she was standing. Malfoy leaned against the door jamb, arms crossed.

"Yes," she answered quietly, wishing for a rock to hide under. Though forced to endure many things, Hermione's schoolgirl shyness had not all vanished; this was not a conversation she anticipated having with _any_ boy. And here she was having it with _Lucius Malfoy. _She burned with embarrassment, heart aching.

"_This _is what you were trying to hide from me?" There was a hint of surprise in his voice he couldn't suppress. _What was he expecting me to be doing? _Hermione asked herself detachedly. She nodded shortly in affirmation.

"And you were doing this because…?" Now the sarcasm and malice were back in his voice. She cringed.

"I don't know," she muttered, knowing it wouldn't suffice.

"Oh, I think you do, Mudblood," he said silkily. "Come, share with me." And he was openly enjoying her discomfort, and she hated him for it. Her arms tightened around her body.

"I…I didn't want to give you more opportunity to hurt me," she said angrily, "Clearly, that didn't work." Another tear leaked out of her eye. She batted it away furiously. There was a moment of tense silence.

"Your efforts to keep things hidden from me continue to amuse me, girl," said Malfoy, not sounding at all amused.

Hermione said nothing in response, waiting for him to continue. She stared fiercely at his left arm, not looking him in the eye. She tensed when he moved closer to her. Panic shocked her nerves when he grabbed her chin suddenly, forcing her face upwards towards his. His face was hard now, all sarcasm gone.

"You will do well to remember, girl, that you have _no _secrets from me," he said harshly, though his voice was only just above a whisper. "I. _Own. _You." And he let go of her forcefully. In a billow of robes he exited the bathroom, leaving Hermione shaking. She could still feel his fingers on her face…strange how touch becomes so foreign so quickly, she thought. His words rang in her head. He owned her. She felt so trapped. The pain would never end, would it? She clung to the sink for support, wanting for all the world to just cry her heart out, her misery suffocating her. But she couldn't. She knew she couldn't. She battled with her emotions until she could control herself, and then once again cleaned up her mess and flushed the toilet. She stayed seated, still without a solution to her problem. She touched the cloth of her underwear; it was more or less dry, and she slipped on the undergarment, wadding up toilet paper to use in lieu of a pad. She stood then, wondering if she should leave the bathroom. It was becoming more than claustrophobic. Just as she decided to leave, Malfoy appeared in the doorway again, causing her to shrink back.

"Severus will be here shortly with a potion for you," he said brusquely, ignoring her skittish movement. "You will take it without complaint. You will not ask questions. Is that understood?" His face and voice were hard. Clearly he'd either overheard or heard of her last encounter with Snape. She nodded mutely. His eyes drifted past her, towards her hanging jeans and T-shirt, her drying sheets. With a flick of his wand they were all banished. Gone. Just like that. Hermione's heart constricted painfully.

"My clothes!" she cried out, unable to help herself, heart racing. Had he…? No, she tried to calm herself, he hadn't seen her bra; it was still tucked safely behind the toilet, out of site. Ron's note was safe. She tried to soothe her frazzled nerves, but couldn't help but feel a pang of loss at the disappearance of her only possessions. Damn her hormones making her so emotional! She couldn't afford this now. He would break her in a matter of days. She focused on breathing, on reveling in the fact that her most important belonging was still with her, and better yet, hidden from Malfoy.

She heard Malfoy's light scoff from behind.

"Disgusting, ratted things," he commented, "They are better off banished. You will wear only the clothes given to you from now on." He fixed her with a level stare, daring her to say otherwise.

Hermione said nothing, still nowhere near comfortable enough to be talking with him right now, still too overwhelmed with emotion. Luckily, there was a sudden _whoosh_ from the fireplace then, and Malfoy turned away from her. She could see more black robes behind him, and assumed Snape was here.

And then there he was- greasy black hair, oversized nose and all, in the bathroom doorway. She gazed at him. He had an indescribable look on his face, and Hermione pictured what she must look like. She had been avoiding mirrors, but if she was as exhausted as she felt, there would be dark circles under her eyes. Her body she knew was a colorful mass of healing bruises against pale skin. Her hair must have been a right mess, and she knew she was far too skinny now, her dress hanging baggily off her thin frame. She broke eye contact.

"Miss Granger," he said in terse greeting, voice betraying nothing.

"Professor," she answered quietly, wishing him gone, wishing her most personal information wasn't being made public, first to Malfoy and now to Snape. It was so humiliating. Talking to her Potions Professor about such private things. She willed herself not to feel anything.

"Have you been taking the Dreamless Sleep Potion as I instructed?" he asked instead. He held the air of a professor thoroughly expecting his student to have failed an assignment.

"Yes, sir," answered Hermione, not bothering to mention when Malfoy had _Stupefied _her unconscious for a day. She'd done a good job not thinking about any of that today. She still did not look at Snape. _Just don't think, _she said to herself, _don't think about what's going on, just get through it and go to bed. _

She thought she heard Snape sigh, but she could have been mistaken. In a rustle of clothing, he extracted a new vial of potion from his robes, extending his arm out towards her.

"You will need to take this potion once every month, or whenever your cycle starts," said Snape plainly as Hermione listlessly accepted the potion. "It will stop your period each time you take it. You will need to notify Lucius when you need it."

_Fantastic. I get to do this every month with them. _She felt herself begin to crawl into a protective shell, keeping her at bay from the shame and anxiety she felt.

Hermione downed the bottle wordlessly, feeling a stinging scourge in her lower abdomen, and held the empty glass in her hand afterward. She saw Snape raise an eyebrow at her out of the corner of her eye.

"No questions for me this time, Miss Granger?" he asked. Hermione couldn't tell if he was making fun of her or not. "Not going to ask me endless questions about the potion's composition?" He was goading her now. Hermione shrugged.

"I already know what it is," she replied unfeelingly, "and I was told to not ask questions." _Besides, the last time you were here, you said you didn't have the time, _she thought.

She could hear the skepticism in Snape's voice when he said,

"Is that so? You could, then, recount for me the exact preparation of this potion." It was a question within a statement, and he leaned against the wall, head inclined imploringly at her.

Hermione fought with herself for a minute. She was confused as to why Snape would want to talk to her. And the last thing she wanted right now was to talk to someone about her newest embarrassment, least of all to Snape. She just wanted to go lie down and stay there for the next five days. But it had been so long since someone had wanted to talk to her who was actually interested in what she had to say. And she could never resist an intellectual challenge.

So Hermione explained, haltingly at first, the detail of the two stages of brewing a Contraceptive Potion, listing the core ingredients as well as the herbs that gave the additional flavors and aromas she had picked up on. She elaborated then the different stages of heating, cooling, stirring and refluxing the potion and the importance of each step. When she had finished, she felt more like herself, as if the recitation had been a cleansing ritual. She relaxed. Finally, she looked at him again.

"Still a know-it-all, Miss Granger," Snape commented drily, "a shame you aren't of pure blood." There was no pity in his voice, but no malice either.

It was the closest thing to a compliment Hermione had heard in ages, and it made her heart ache. Being a know-it-all was a part of her life, her former life, and the connection to the past made her want to cry. _Damn emotions,_ Hermione thought for the umpteenth time that day. A sudden movement by Snape brought her eyes back to her Professor.

"What is that, Miss Granger?" he asked, a note of incredulity in his voice, eyes directed at her feet. She looked at him, confused.

"What?" she asked, perplexed.

"Your ankle," said Snape hissed, now looking at her intensely. Hermione lifted her foot slightly, making a face.

"Another _collar_," she spat distastefully. "It works without him having to enforce punishment, or something. He didn't explain it fully. It hurts when activated." The memory washed over her and she shuddered slightly. "Like snake fangs on my skin." Snape continued to stare openly.

"Why?" asked Hermione, suddenly apprehensive. It was not like Snape to look so moved. Ever.

"That mark, Miss Granger," said Snape slowly, "Should not have been necessary for you. It is used as a highly protective measurement. It is far more effective than _just a collar_, much more powerful than your brand mark." Snape gave her an intense, penetrating look. "With that mark, Miss Granger, no other man may ever touch you without Lucius' express permission, myself included."

Hermione sucked in a breath. _What?_ Her mind whirled. She was not something Malfoy coveted highly; his treatment of her was more than testament of that. But then _why _would he do something like that to her? And no other man would touch her...a life full of cold, affectionless misery awaited her. The only touch she would ever feel again would be Malfoy's cruel whip, his burning, callous touches. Her stomach twisted in knots, loneliness creeping over her.

There was a movement outside of the bathroom, and Malfoy appeared in the doorway before either teacher or student could say anything more.

"Severus?" he inquired, though he was looking at Hermione, "She's not giving you trouble, I hope?" he inquired cordially, though his tone reflected the threat, "I warned her—"

"No, Lucius," Severus cut off the other Death Eater smoothly as Hermione blanched, "I was merely ensuring she was taking the Dreamless Sleep Potion as I prescribed." Malfoy nodded in acceptance of this, and the two left her alone again in the bathroom as Malfoy showed Severus out. She heard the door open and shut, and realized that Snape was not leaving via the floo. She shook off her shock at her newest revelation. She had to pay attention to the present. Snape was leaving through the front door. That gave her time…

She snatched up her bra from behind the toilet, and with a cursory glance first around the room, she ran behind her shade and shoved the garment far under the futon. The cushion was bare now, the sheets gone. She sat down on the mattress and waited for Malfoy to return, heart beating quickly. She gripped the edges of the mattress.

Apparently Snape and Malfoy chatted or had other business before the former left, for Malfoy didn't return for over two hours, during which Hermione sat in a state of nerves at the corner of her futon. She was on edge, the entire time not knowing when he would come back or what sort of mood he would be in. At the sound of the door finally opening, she inched herself out from behind the shade and knelt, still half-hidden. She heard him hang up his cloak, heard the sound of his chair creaking as he sat down upon it. He said nothing to her, but started the fire. She imagined he was drinking his customary glass of red wine. She didn't look up at him.

Malfoy ignored her for the better part of an hour, and her legs were growing numb from kneeling so long. She used the time to contemplate Snape. He was weirdly interested in her well-being, given that he was a Death Eater and she a lowly…she refused to say the word. Potions aside, he had taken the time to talk to her and draw her from a quickly forming shell, had lied for her and protected her against Malfoy. And because of this caring, Hermione found that she missed his presence and wanted him back. She was aghast with herself for those feelings, but it had been so long since someone cared about her that she couldn't help it. She knew her feelings were irrational, but still…without him here, nothing shielded her from Malfoy; her only protector was gone.

The time dragged on and Hermione's mind started to wander. She exhausted the topic of her anklet, coming up with no viable solution to the new puzzlement. It only made the anxiety in her belly increase tenfold. _There's nothing you can do about it, _she told herself firmly, _so stop thinking about it. You can't afford the waste of energy. _

Despite her best efforts, Hermione could not clear her mind of thought. She started instead thinking against her will about the events of the previous two days, the action of begging for food replaying again and again in her mind. It was making her sick. She hated thinking about it. About humiliation. Humiliated for begging. For just _being_. For things that were beyond her control, like hunger, like her period. It just wasn't _fair _that she suffer shame for those things. She felt anger and disgrace surge through her.

"Come here, girl." Hermione was jolted from her reverie by Malfoy's cutting voice. She rose to wobbly knees, but her legs were so asleep that she couldn't stand. She looked up to find him watching her, and wondered if he had planned this. Teeth gritting together, she slowly dragged herself across the carpet, muscles protesting. Her legs began to wake up, sending shooting sparks up her body. She stopped before him, more angry and frustrated with him than she was embarrassed at this point, which she considered progress. She'd had enough of embarrassment for today, and just wanted to sleep.

He didn't comment, but appraised her huddled form for a moment. She didn't know which was worse.

"You will never have children," he said. The words, totally unexpected, hit Hermione like a kick to the stomach. Her eyes visibly widened and her face paled. She knew he was looking for a reaction from her though, and was determined not to give it. She would deal with emotions later. So, putting on her best face, she answered him.

"No," she agreed carefully.

"Did you want them?" Malfoy leaned forward slightly. Hermione shrugged, forcing herself to keep calm.

"It's useless to think about that now," she said evasively, shifting her weight from knee to prickling knee, trying to get blood flow to her feet.

"Come now Mudblood, surely you've _thought _about it," Malfoy prodded, "What would you be doing now, had the Light won the war?" Hermione tightened her jaw; he was egging her on on purpose. He wanted her to talk.

"Are you asking out of actual curiosity or as something else to use against me?" she spat through gritted teeth. Malfoy smiled slightly at her.

"No matter the reason," he told her lightly in response, "you _will _answer the question." He ended his statement with assuredness.

Hermione hated these forced question and answer games, but if this was going to happen, she wasn't going to last through it kneeling. Resignedly, she flopped out of her kneeling position, too tired to care about his ridiculous formalities. Malfoy didn't comment, and didn't reach for his wand to punish her, which she took as a good sign. For now.

"I honestly don't know what I'd be doing," she said, meeting his gaze, holding back the emotion that desperately wanted to show in her voice, "I suppose I always pictured myself going to University. I wanted to be a Charms professor," she hesitated before continuing, "As far as children…," she swallowed. This was hard for her, and he knew it. Oh, how she hated him!

"Yes," she said finally, "I wanted children. I was in love…," her breath hitched at the thought of Ron. She continued, no longer able to look at Malfoy, staring instead at his shoes, the blunt end of his cane, anything. "I wanted to get married and have children." She stopped here, unable to continue, throat tight. Malfoy regarded her silently from above. When she trusted herself to speak again, she said to him,

"I understand that I will never have children now, that it is no longer an option in my life," she stated bravely, fighting back the torrent of feelings with the last of her energy. The finality and truth of the statement made her shake with emotion. There was a long pause during which Malfoy said nothing, but she could feel his eyes on her. Steeling her nerves for the last time that night, she asked,

"May I go to bed now?" She had hoped that if Malfoy recognized the defeat of her dreams, he would let her go. She was tired, though she couldn't have been up for more than six or so hours. Emotionally drained would be a better way to put it. She couldn't keep all of her emotions cornered for much longer, and she knew she was going to reach a breaking point soon. She needed to be away from Malfoy.

"No, I'm not quite finished with you, Mudblood," said Malfoy, relaxed in his armchair. Hermione closed her eyes briefly, heart sinking, wondering what else he wanted with her.

"There is still the matter of you disobeying me today," he said languidly, "Or have you forgotten already the secret you tried to keep?"

Hermione's heart sank. Of course. She shook her head slowly, bending over in her sitting position until her forehead touched the carpet, gripping the edges of her dress tightly in anticipation. The blows came swiftly, twenty lashes in quick succession, and had her crying out sharp screams by the end. They felt especially painful tonight, and more than she'd expected. She breathed heavily as tears coursed down her face and neck.

"Apologize and get out of my sight, Mudblood," Malfoy ordered cruelly, "and remember that you are _my _property and you keep _nothing _from me." Hermione tried to find her voice through her pain. She could feel the blood dripping down her sides and into the dress, onto her stomach.

"I'm…sorry," she said in between breaths, hating herself, hating him, "I should not have hidden…it," she still couldn't bring herself to say 'period' in front of him, "from you. I should not have lied to you," she finished. She didn't have the energy to fight against him tonight. She knew he was smiling smugly down at her and she and crawled away from him, disappearing behind her curtain. The sheets had been replaced on her mattress. Smidgey. She collapsed onto the futon. She drank her Dreamless Sleep Potion cried quietly to herself, not caring that Malfoy could probably hear her. She cried, curled up and shaking, her emotions finally catching up to her in an overpowering wave of grief. Grief for her loss of a future, for her loss of dignity and pride, for her loss of life, and for her loss of her dreams. She cried until, finally, exhaustion brought her sleep.

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Well, the goal is to finish up this story in two chapters. Though I have absolutely no clue what's going in the last chapter ^_^ Thank you all for your ideas and support!


	10. The Words of a Death Eater

Hello readers! Here's the next chapter of Entropy...I've actually been sitting on this chapter for a few days now-in some ways I'm not really happy with it, but in others I'm quite pleased. So, please read and tell me what you think of it! Thank you to the readers who inspired me with ideas; the story wouldn't exist without you!

* * *

Hermione was thankful when she woke up the next day with no blood on her sheets. She swung her legs over the side of her futon, feet brushing lightly against the rug. She ran the bottoms of her feet over it lightly, enjoying the soft tickling sensation. She could feel the scabs on her back stretching, her skin prickling from the dried blood of her wounds. She'd been careful to sleep on her stomach last night, sheets covering only the lower half of her body so they wouldn't stick to her back. Hermione shifted on the bed, holding up the right side of her dress; the strap had broken last night during her punishment. She wondered vaguely how she could fix it without the means to do so, magical or Muggle. For now, though, she simply clamped the top of her dress between her side and underarm.

She spotted a bowl on the small table. Oatmeal. A banana lay beside it. Rising stiffly from her cot, she knelt at the low table. Movement hurt, making her eyes water. She sneezed. Steadying herself against the table, she handled the spoon awkwardly, still unused to relying on her left hand for so much. She had just taken the first bite of oatmeal when she froze, spoon still in her mouth. Malfoy was in bed, sitting relaxed against his pillows, watching her. Hermione swallowed, oatmeal feeling like glue in her mouth, glomming its way down her throat to settle in an uncomfortable lump in her stomach. He had never been there when she'd woken up before. She set down her spoon nervously. She remained kneeling at her table.

"By all means, don't stop eating on my account Mudblood," said Malfoy. "Finish," he ended the pleasantry in a hard command.

Hermione had never had so much trouble eating food before. The intense scrutiny she was under made her extremely nervous. She was still shaken and hurting from last night; usually she had the entire day to herself to recover before facing him. This was a new disadvantage, stomach-churning and disconcerting. She concentrated her attention on not letting her hand shake as she shoveled the tasteless food into her mouth. She couldn't finish it though, stomach twisting in knots of worry. _What is his game today_? She thought, _and why is he here?_

She thought she would vomit at the next mouthful, and set the spoon back in the bowl. She couldn't look at the food. She put her hand in her lap, wondering agitatedly what he would do now. She got her answer.

"I said to _finish, _Mudblood," he drawled softly, "and I meant all of it. You will take everything I give you."

Hermione looked despairingly down at her food. It looked so unappealing, and her anxiety had all but banished her hunger, making her sick to her stomach. She gulped hard. Maybe the banana…she picked it up hesitantly, peeling it slowly. She tried to force her nerves down, breathing slowly, willing her sympathetic system to turn off her fight or flight response. It didn't help.

She was able to eat the banana, taking small bites, stomach protesting the whole time. She finally turned back to the oatmeal, which had gone cold. She could feel his eyes on her, watching.

She shuddered at the first mouthful, gagging as she swallowed. The next few bites were the same, until she had to rest her head on the table to prevent herself from vomiting. Her dress slipped down when she sat back up, and she hastily readjusted it. She finally finished the last bite, breathing slowly through her nose after she swallowed, eyes closed.

"If you're _finally _finished," came Malfoy's voice from across the room, "then come here." Hermione's stomach twisted violently as she stood. When she was relatively sure she wouldn't pass out or vomit, she made her way to the bed. Malfoy was sitting near the edge, slate grey eyes watching her. She stopped four feet from the bed.

"Closer, girl," he said in a low voice. She skittered closer, body thrumming with nervous energy. She stopped just before him, breath quickening at his close proximity. She could hear him breathing.

"Turn around," he said. She did, slowly, her entire body tense. He said nothing for a long minute, and Hermione's anxiety grew to a painful level, the adrenaline electrocuting every fiber of her being. Finally he spoke,

"How many?" She knew what he meant. There wasn't a thing in this room she hadn't counted, on her body included.

"Two hundred and thirteen," she responded shakily. She didn't like not being able to see him.

"Two hundred and thirteen," Malfoy repeated. "And you still haven't yet learned to obey me."

Hermione said nothing.

"That makes you a fairly stupid Mudblood, doesn't it?" he asked her silkily. Hermione fumed silently, but said nothing.

"Say it Mudblood," he drawled cruelly, the 'or else,' unspoken but clearly implied in his tone. Hermione looked up at the ceiling. _They're just words, they don't mean anything, _she told herself.

"I am a stupid Mudblood," she recited in her most toneless voice, readjusting her dress under her arm again. She glared at the wall opposite her.

All at once Hermione felt a rush of air over her body, and she gasped in horror and surprise as her dress disappeared, leaving her clad in only her underwear in front of Malfoy. She wrapped her arms protectively around her chest, shivering in the chilly air but blushing hotly at the same time. She craned her neck behind her to look at him in horrified disbelief, confusion adding to her nervousness. He met her gaze, an odd look in his eyes, and conjured a new green garment, which hovered before her. She snatched it hastily, and keeping her back to him, shrugged it on carefully. It was different from her green dress, a forest green satin nightgown. I came down to her mid-thigh. Thankfully the back was open, keeping off her wounds. She hugged herself when she was finished dressing, still embarrassed to have been nearly naked in front of him, and barely covered now. She couldn't help the panic that made her heart pound loudly in her ears. _A nightgown? And satin nightgown…_her mind reeled with the implications. But he wouldn't…

She flinched violently when she felt a finger on her back, lightly tracing the outline of a stripe. She stilled at his strict command to do so, though she shook like a leaf. The touch was feather-light, running down the length of her back. What was he doing? This is _not _how Malfoy behaved. She thought she might hyperventilate in panic. Touch was so strange to her now and she craved it constantly, but not from him. Not from Malfoy. His touch came with too much pain.

"It was her birthday today," Malfoy commented distantly, finger still tracing. Hermione started, confused. Birthday? Whose?

_Narcissa_. It registered in her brain seconds later. She felt her breath catch. What did that have to do with _her_? Why was he acting like this? It drove her panic to a deeper level.

"Please," she whispered, nearly inaudible. She was scared now. She felt a few tears slip uncontrollably down her face. The touch was too much. She couldn't handle it.

"Please what, Mudblood?" She'd never heard that tone before. It wasn't soft maliciousness or sarcasm, but nor was it harsh and angry. His finger traveled lower down her back.

"Please…stop," she pleaded in a whisper. Malfoy's finger halted in its path but remained poised on her back. She couldn't bear the touch any longer and wrenched away from him, stumbling forward a few feet. She kept her back to him. She heard the rustle of sheets and felt her heart twist in anticipation. The adrenaline made her fingers ache and her muscles tense, ready to flee. If only there was somewhere to go.

"Does my touch frighten you so much, Mudblood?" asked Malfoy silkily. She heard him approach her, his feet rustling quietly against the rug.

"Yes," she whispered, forcing herself to not move, her head bowed slightly, arms around her torso. He was there then, his entire body inches behind hers. She shuddered as his head bent to her ear. His hair tickled her neck and shoulder. She tried to control her sharp intakes of breath.

"What if I decided to take you, right here, girl?" he asked her, breath tickling her ear. "There would be nothing you could do to stop me." There was no hint of amusement or mockery in his voice; he was absolutely serious. Hermione couldn't help the whimper that clawed its way out her mouth. She wasn't so innocent that she didn't know what he was implying. She felt her knees about to give out, torn between outright fear and incredulity. There was no _way..._

"You…you wouldn't," she said, stumbling over the choked words. "You…you said you would never…just the other day…"

Malfoy laughed darkly, body brushing up against hers. "Stupid girl," he said softly, almost endearingly, "believing the words of a _Death Eater_." His hand brushed her upper right arm. She cringed, and her knees did give out then. She sank to the floor, shivering.

"Please don't…" she begged, knowing his threat was entirely real, "Please I've never…please don't..." she trailed off, breathing unevenly. There was something very different about the way Malfoy was acting towards her, and he looked resolute in carrying out his intentions. And Hermione was terrified. She hadn't felt so scared since Jugson at the party. The memories flooded her in a sickening surge.

She suddenly vomited all over the rug, insides purging the raw emotion she felt. She heaved, shuddering, until her entire breakfast was on the floor. Before she could rise from her doubled over position, her neck was grabbed suddenly and painfully from behind. She was shoved downward without warning into the carpet, into her mess. She felt her nose start to bleed. She breathed in through her mouth, gagging on inhaled bits of defection and blood. She struggled frantically against his grip, twisting her head from side to side. The smell, added to the taste, induced another nauseous wave and she fought frantically to keep it down, convinced she would suffocate otherwise.

"_Stupid, filthy little Mudblood_," he hissed at her. That odd tone from before was gone from his voice, and cold malice replaced it, something she recognized and never thought she would embrace so much. He pushed her deeper into the rug, but Hermione didn't care; whatever mood he had been in he had snapped out of. She was safe. Well, from _that_, anyway.

He finally let her up, her face covered with her mess. She rolled away, bracing herself on her elbows and knees, coughing. She blushed deeply, unbidden sobs escaping her. Her ragged breathing did not calm. But inwardly she couldn't help but rejoice. He was back to his normal, horrible self. Humiliating her like that was something he _would _take advantage of. Her sobs were as much in shame and fear as they were in relief. She heard him speaking.

"This is the way it should be," came his cruel voice, "At my feet, a cowering filthy Mudblood, terrified of everything I am." This was said in a convinced tone, as if he needed to hear it for himself. The words hardly phased Hermione, who had heard it before and whose emotional range would not accept any more feeling at the moment.

Malfoy _Scourgified _the mess and, with a last disgusted glare at Hermione, left. It was a long time before she forced herself up off the floor and into the bathroom. Her nose bled sluggishly now; she blotted it carefully once she was sure it wasn't broken. She spent the next twenty minutes slowly and carefully washing her face. When the last of the half-digested breakfast was gone from her skin and hair, she wiped her eyes one more time before turning away from the mirror. She hated the sight of herself. She twisted her hair in a crude braid and left the room. Skirting away from the bed and the door, she hid behind her shade. She curled up on her futon and stared blankly at the wall.

She might have been raped. She had no way of knowing if Malfoy would have actually done it, but what he had said was true. She _had_ been foolish to believe a Death Eater wouldn't do …_that_, to her. Foolish to believe _anything_ he told her. She'd been foolish to ignore the fact that he could do _whatever _he wanted to her, whenever he wanted. She was his, and had the marks to prove it. It made fresh tears prick her eyes in despair. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut against them until her head hurt.

She didn't know how long she lay there like that as time became obsolete to her. But finally she moved, reaching under her mattress to pull out her bra, needing the comfort. She worked her finger into the hole until she found what she was looking for. She unraveled Ron's note, the first time she'd looked at it since that day in the bathroom. It was stained lightly with sweat and blood, but it was still legible. She read it three times over. Her eyes caught the last sentence,

_Live your life with that brilliance and courage you are so filled with._

She folded the note carefully, weeping quietly, unable to help herself. The words echoed in her head. Her courage was gone, her brilliance overpowered by the bonds of enslavement. She had failed him, and more importantly, failed herself. Not wanting to stay awake in this place any longer, Hermione sipped carefully at her Dreamless Sleep Potion and allowed her eyes to drift closed. She still clutched the letter close to her heart.

* * *

She awoke to a loud crash. She started, heart racing, twisting her body around. Her shade was on the floor. Malfoy stood livid in its place. She felt panic and confusion at the look in his eyes. Anger. _Fury_.

"_Lies_," he hissed at her. He grabbed her shoulder and wrenched her out of the bed, ignoring her cries of pain. He snatched from her fist the paper she hadn't even realized she was still holding.

"_Secrets."_ He was livid. He backhanded her across the face, sending her toppling to the floor. She stayed there, horror evident in her eyes. He'd found her out, her last secret. The panic was suffocating. She knew with absolute certainty then that she was going to die.

"_What have I told you about secrets?" _he bellowed at her. His foot flew out, catching her in the ribs. She rolled over, gasping in pain. She tried to crawl away from him, but was hit suddenly and viciously with the _Cruciatus _curse. She doubled over, and it wasn't long before she was screaming. The curse lifted as the first cry left her lips, its duration no more than a minute. She lay there limply, panting on the floor, tears streaming down her face. Her eyes rested unfocused on the window ahead of her. It was nighttime. There was silence for a long minute.

"Get up, you piece of filth," came Malfoy's ragged voice. Hermione could hear his breathing being forcibly controlled. She tried to push herself up, but was too exhausted from the curse. Her arms shook and she collapsed. Before she could try again, she was dragged up magically to her feet. The magic buffered her weight and held her in place as she watched Malfoy approach her. She closed her eyes but then snapped them open quickly, the loss of a sense making the situation far worse.

He was inches from her now. She could smell the slight scent of liquor on his breath, but it wasn't great. His eyes focused murderously on her. His actions were his own, uninfluenced by anything but her. He was terrifying.

He stepped away from her then, unraveling her note, and she let out a distraught whimper, knowing what he was going to do, what she would lose…

His face flashed fury as he read the note before settling to a deadly calm. He turned back to her then, eyes glinting, nostrils flared.

"So," he said softly, and Hermione feared that voice more than his outright anger, "You thought you could hide this from me, even though you _know_," and he punctuated this with a sneer, "that you have no secrets from me. Surely you must have known I would find out…?" He left the question hanging. When she didn't say anything, he continued,

"Such a stupid little girl." Hermione bit her lip, distressed and panicked beyond words. Malfoy circled behind her slowly, making her heart skip irregularly. "Whatever shall I do to you now?" He was close, right behind her right ear. She shuddered involuntarily. He circled back in front of her, and suddenly she was being dragged across the room, five paces behind Malfoy. She was dropped unceremoniously to the floor before the hearth. Malfoy stood in front of the fire, which was blazing in the hearth as it was every evening. He held the paper above it, arm outstretched. Hermione let out a strangled cry, finding her voice.

"No!" It was a broken plea, powered with emotion, and she fought down the sobs that accompanied it. She reached out her arm and grasped the hem of his robes, knowing it was useless, knowing it was demeaning and pathetic and not caring. He may as well have held Ron himself over the fire. He stopped, looking down at her kneeling form that was begging him to stop.

"No?" he asked silkily. Hermione flinched but clung to his robes still. "Were you, Mudblood, possibly thinking you could tell _me _what to do?" His voice was like fire, burning her to the core. She bent her head lower to the ground.

"N-No," she whispered above the roar of the fire. "No, I just…I…I…" she looked up at him pleadingly, willing him to understand.

"You just…?" Malfoy taunted. Hermione gulped, feeling as if her life was hinged on that note. Her last possession. Her last connection to life, _her_ life. Her last connection to her love.

"It's all I have," she said brokenly, fist still clutched around his robe. Hard eyes met her words.

"I know," he said coldly.

Hermione did close her eyes then, sobs breaking through walls of suppressed emotion, wrenching from her chest. She did not want to watch this. She rested her head against her arms, forehead brushing his robes and chin brushing the rug. She tightened her fist in his robes, thumping it once on the ground in pitiable defeat. She heard the crackle and pop of the fire and it ate at her soul. There was a long moment of silence, save for the fire and her uncontrollable cries.

She felt the swirl of magic bringing her upright again and didn't fight it, releasing his robes. She did not want to look at him, but felt a tug on her chin upwards. Her gaze met his, and then fluttered to his hand. He still held the note. Her eyes widened, heart hammering in her chest with irrational relief, _hope._

"This," and Malfoy fingered the note delicately, "means so much to you?" he asked her silkily. Hermione nodded.

"Please," she begged in a cracked voice, "Please I'd do anything…" It was a deal with the Devil. It was exactly what he wanted.

"Anything?" he asked her softly. Hermione tore her eyes away from the note, refocusing on his face. He was completely serious, a hard glint in those mercurial eyes.

"I…" she trailed off. Her logic was clouded with emotion. It was her only link to Ron. To her past life. It was what had kept her sane since her capture. It was her everything.

"Yes," she answered desperately, feeling dread coil like a snake in her stomach. She saw the ghost of a smile on Malfoy's lips, and her breathing quickened in anticipation.

"Done," said Malfoy with a note of finality. Hermione forgot to breathe for a second.

"W-what do you want of me?" she asked, apprehension making her nauseous. Malfoy moved in close to her, gripping her chin painfully. Inches away. His grey eyes bore into hers.

"You," he whispered.

Hermione gasped. She had thought that he could ask that of her, but she'd suppressed it in her fit of emotion. She wrested her chin from his grip, staggering backwards.

"I…I don't understand," she said, balking.

"Surely you comprehend the concept of sex," said Malfoy, voice laughing at her, "being the know-it-all that you are." Hermione blushed fiercely, hugging her arms to herself.

"Y-yes," she answered, embarrassed. "I meant…" she struggled, "I-I don't know _why_. I'm a…a filthy Mudblood, remember?" She hoped to dissuade him, and she was ready to lower herself to do it. Her panic was steadily rising in her chest, and she took another step backwards. He made no move toward her, and really, she knew there was nowhere for her to go.

"And I am a man," said Malfoy, dismissing her comment with a wave of his hand, "a man with no family, a man with needs." His eyes glinted, though they held a different light than the maliciousness she was used to.

"Is this because it's _her _birthday?" Hermione was on dangerous ground, but didn't care. If he could be distracted into beating her, she would risk it.

"Yes." There was nothing but coldness in his eyes. No emotion.

"I'm just a girl," she whispered, a last-ditch attempt. He shook his head.

"You stopped being "just a girl" the minute you stepped out onto that battlefield," he told her. "The minute my son—" he cut himself off, angry.

"It matters not," he said shortly, "It is your choice, girl. Me, or your pathetic note."

It was a catch-22. If she accepted him, she betrayed Ron and everything she stood for. If she did not…she lost Ron forever, and the one token of her past life she had left.

Malfoy held the note closer to the flame.

"You!" she cried out, unable to stop herself. She clamped her hand over her mouth in horror. A sickening smile spread over Malfoy's face. He flicked his wand at the note, and sent it hovering near the chandelier in the high recess of the room, well out of her grasp yet away from the flames nonetheless. Hermione watched it longingly. Her attention was brought back to Malfoy by the swish of his robes. He was discarding his cloak, and the reality of her agreement finally hit Hermione. She panicked.

"What, now?" she was breathless, sure she would positively fall over if it weren't for the magic holding her upright. He turned back to her, a small smirk on his face.

"Yes," was his simple answer. He removed his cufflinks, then unbuttoned his top shirt slowly. Hermione backed away, unable to help herself. She stopped, purely terrified, when her legs banged into the bed. She stumbled back onto it. She could _hear _her heart crashing about in her chest. Tears leaked from her eyes. She didn't bother to wipe them away. She stared hard at the rug, not looking at him. She felt so scared.

"Girl," came his voice, and she forced her head up to him. His shirt was completely removed, leaving him clad in only his pants. His hair framed his chiseled face, the tips brushing bare shoulders. His arms and abdomen were sculpted in hard muscle. She could see several scars adorning his body. Tokens of Voldemort. She blushed and looked away.

"Sex involves the disrobing of _both _members," he told her casually, taunting her. Hermione felt sick, but after a long moment reached up slowly, painfully, to slip off the strap of her right sleeve. She hissed as it brushed against one of her wounds. Her nerves felt like they were on fire. If she had been watching, she would have noticed Malfoy frown at her.

"Stop," he commanded suddenly. Hermione jumped, confused, and stopped. She felt a flash of relief—was he changing his mind?—but she cringed when she saw him draw his wand. "Turn," he instructed. Hermione did so on wobbly legs, her breath hitching. She started when she felt the cooling sensation of a healing spell spread across her entire back, sealing and healing her injuries. She braced herself against the bed until he was finished.

"Continue," was his next order, clearly dismissing his actions. Hermione couldn't stop shaking. Back still turned to him, she slipped off the right strap with her left hand. The left strap though, she couldn't get, unable to catch hold of it with her stump. She sank shaking on the bed, tears coursing silently down her face, fumbling desperately with the dress. She couldn't think straight, she could scarcely breathe.

And suddenly he was behind her. She recoiled from his touch, but he held her firmly in place between himself and the bed. He took hold of the strap and, with an almost gentle touch, slipped it off her shoulder. A soft cry escaped Hermione, she couldn't help it. Her trembling did not stop.

"Relax," came Malfoy's voice in her ear as the nightgown slid off her body. Hermione's arms tried to hide her uncovered breasts. Malfoy was quicker though, and brought her hands to her sides.

"Don't," he warned, and his arms encircled her stomach, running up her jutting ribs and down to her hip bone. Hermione's breath hitched in a suppressed sob. His touch, though gentle, hurt as much as the whip. It was so much worse than this morning. Hermione fought the urge to vomit, gagging twice. She _would _have vomited had there been anything left in her stomach since this morning. She felt the hard bulge pressing up behind her and squeezed her eyes shut tight, head drooping down to her chest, her breathing erratic.

"You have never had sex before, is that correct?" She could feel his hot breath on her neck, and he kissed her skin. She nodded shortly, knowing if she opened her mouth she would start crying uncontrollably. Malfoy gave a noncommittal murmur in response. He continued running his hands over her stomach, continued kissing her neck lightly, moving down to her shoulder blade. His hands moved upwards then, cupping her breasts. Hermione let out a gasp punctuated by a sob. Jugson floated into her mind, his hands all over her. _I can't do this again! _her mind cried hysterically.

"No, I-I cant…" she whispered, panicked. He growled in response.

"Yes, you can, and you will," he squeezed her breasts hard to affirm this, eliciting another cry from Hermione. She shook her head in futile denial. He spun her around then, and she turned her head away from him. He brought her chin up though, forcing her to look up at him.

"I am going to fuck you now," he told her matter-of-factly, and she blushed in shame, "and you are going to remember that you _chose _this, Mudblood, and there is no going back." Hermione squeezed her eyes shut as tears forced their way out. He backed her into the bed again, laying her down on her back. She braced herself in anticipation. She flinched when she felt his hands on her face, his thumbs brushing away her tears.

"Open your eyes," he commanded softly, and she did, out of fear. He was looking straight down at her, his hair a curtain around them. She looked up at him pleadingly, scared out of her mind. He was _so _frightening. They stayed like that for more than a minute, the silence dragging on, the dread eating her away. Hermione couldn't watch this anymore. Couldn't keep looking at him, at _her_, at…them.

"Can…" she tried, but her voice died. Malfoy raised an eyebrow in inquiry at her, his only sign for her to continue. She shook her head slightly and closed her eyes instead, unable to speak. Malfoy gave her an amused look. But he seemed to read her thoughts, for with a wave of the wizard's hand, the lamps flicked off, leaving only the glow of the fire to light the room. Hermione's eyes opened. She watched as Malfoy, face cast in dancing shadows, moved his head back down to her body. Starting again at her neck, he kissed his way down her chest, nipping and sucking at her flesh, and not gently.

He held her left breast in his hand, massaging it roughly. His mouth laved her right breast, tongue circling the nipple as he sucked. Hermione, for her part, did the best she could to relax, trying to breathe through her nose. He bit her then, hard, but not drawing blood. He smirked at her pained cry. He must know that her emotions right now made her nerves hypersensitive. Hermione would have been fuming if she wasn't so lost in the haze of fear. Malfoy turned his attention to her left breast. Hewas clearly enjoying himself, not at all concerned with her reactions. By the time he moved down her stomach, Hermione was panting lightly, mostly from fear and anticipation. She tried to ignore the slightest twinge of pleasure she'd felt at his ministrations in between his painful bites, his nails that dug into her skin; she was still terrified of him, but she couldn't prevent the feelings he created at her sensitive nerve endings. She knew rationally that the sensation was involuntary, beyond her mind and will to control, but she was disgusted with herself for those feelings, however small they were. Those feelings betrayed Ron. Didn't they?

Her panties were still on, and he moved to slip them off. She instinctively clamped her legs tightly together, but with a growl from Malfoy he forced them apart, drawing her underwear down her legs. She let out a sharp, panicked breath as he slid himself between her thighs, struggling to not to strain away from him. He was done playing with her for his enjoyment, ready for her now. She was not remotely aroused.

She was not ready. She doubted she ever would have been, but it still hurt. The physical pain of his entrance was horrible, but the emotional pain was utterly crushing, and she screamed her agony. Malfoy didn't wait, pulling out sharply only to push back into her forcefully. She felt wetness, and knew it was blood. Her blood. Malfoy grunted above her. She screamed again.

"It hurts, doesn't it Mudblood?" he hissed in her ear, thrusting again. Hermione sobbed. Her body, her heart, was being ripped in two. She nodded jerkily, head turned as far as it could into the coverlet, as far away from him as she could get.

"P-please…," she pleaded, eyes squeezed shut as tears flooded from them, "Please don't move!" She tried to hold his arms in place with her own, but he was too strong. He didn't listen to her, pinning her upper arms to the bed with bruising force.

"Punishment," he growled at her softly, pushing into her, hard. She groaned in pain. "Punishment for hiding secrets from me." He plunged into her again. "You. Will. _Learn_." He punctuated each word with a thrust, fingers tightening around her arms. "_Never _to disobey me," he finished in a snarl, burying himself deep into her damaged psyche. She would never, ever forget this.

Hermione was crying openly now, tears streaming down her face. It hurt _so _much. He turned her over on the bed, the whirling of his hips and her body making her moan in newfound pain. He continued to drive into her, and she clutched the sheets in her fist, biting the covers hard. The new position hurt worse than the first. Hermione's cries lapsed into hoarse whimpers as Malfoy continued to abuse her body. Whatever pleasure she could have felt, would have felt with Ron, was totally overpowered by the pain she was enduring. Just when she thought she would pass out, his thrusting became suddenly erratic and then she felt something warm shoot inside her, accompanied by a sated moan from Malfoy.

"_Mine," _he whispered possessively to her in a final, deep thrust.

He rolled to the side, pulling out of her. Hermione lay motionless beside him, feeling used and beaten. She flinched when she felt his body move behind hers, and shuddered visibly when his arm draped over her. She felt him panting lightly on her shoulder, felt his muscled abdomen pressing against her back. She did not dare move, shuddering uncontrollably. She tried hard to not cry anymore.

"Good girl," he purred at her, a knife to her heart. She bit back tears, making her lip bleed; surely she had cried enough by now. _It's over_, she chanted to herself desperately, _just get away. Focus. Please. _She struggled to find her voice.

"My note?" she asked bravely, though her voice wavered brokenly. She was facing away from him, trying hard to forcibly relax her muscles. She gripped the sheets tightly in pain and anxiety. The arm removed itself from her body with an irritated sigh from Malfoy. Everything hurt, her heart the most. But she was getting her note back. She was getting Ron back. A soft swish of a wand from behind her, and the paper floated slowly towards them. She watched its approach, gaze fixed. It travelled down gently to the bed, to her. Her heart longed so for that tiny piece of parchment.

The note stopped above the middle of the bed, hovering above her feet. Hermione had forced herself to move, reaching out with her hand, before she heard the word that shattered her world.

"_Incendio." _The paper burst into flame, burning before her eyes.

"_No_!" her scream ripped through her body, anguish coursing through her in a sudden powerful pulse. Before she launch herself towards it, an arm snaked around her middle, pulling her down. Malfoy held her to him as she struggled, the movement sending bullets of pain through her abused body.

"No," she sobbed, "No, no….no…no…" Her desolation was suffocating her, and she struggled harder. "No, no, please God no…" She chanted it like a mantra, unwilling, _unable_ to believe what had just happened. She kicked and hit as she tried to wrestle away from him. She had given up _everything…_and he…he couldn't have…She continued until she had no energy left in her tired body to fight the prison of his arms. She lay there crying.

Then she heard his voice.

"Foolish girl," he breathed in her ear, "believing the words of a Death Eater."

She felt something break irreparably inside of her. She cried harder, beyond words now, pressing her face into the tear-soaked pillow. She cried so hard she began to feel sick. She began to cough-his arm, his _presence_, this room, her emotions all choking her.

"I'm…I'm going to be sick," she whispered. No sooner was she let go than she bent over the bed and vomited stomach bile on the rug. She moaned in pain from the movement. The mess was immediately cleared from the floor. She lay panting there, head drooping over the side of the bed, body splayed lifelessly on the bed. She dry heaved twice more before the haze of suffocation and nausea began to lift.

And then she felt his arm around her waist again.

_Please don't touch me. Please go away_. She closed her eyes and curled into the fetal position. She had nothing left. Nothing.

He pressed himself closer. Hermione didn't move. She had no feeling left, no tears to shed anymore. She was exhausted, physically and emotionally. There was a moment of absolute silence.

"Why?" she whispered hollowly.

"Because I can." His chest rumbled against hers in a deep baritone. "Because you are mine. And because you deserved it." Hermione had no answer, only curled tighter into her ball, trapped by him. Everything hurt.

"I hurt." Her voice sounded distant to her, muted.

"I know."

"Everywhere."

Silence stretched the moment. Then,

"You are not permitted to leave the bed unless I say otherwise." Hermione did not respond, the shattered remains of her heart sinking lower in her chest. How could he do this to her?

She lay like that with him for a long time, unable to sleep, not having the peace of mind to do so; unable to move, not having the strength to try. She heard his breath even out and still could not bring herself to escape from his grasp. Numbness and shock were enveloping her quickly.

"Why did you choose me?" The question was all but inaudible, a question to herself and the empty room.

"Someone had to pay." He was not asleep. She shivered.

"For what?" she asked faintly. What could she have done to make him hate her so? To do this to her? To anyone? Surely he couldn't blame her, do this to her because of…

"The death of my son." Yes, he could.

Hermione wasn't sure she could handle this conversation right now, but through her haze of emotional paralysis her logic recognized that it would be her only chance.

"Draco," she said quietly. She felt his arm tighten in warning about her, but continued anyway, "He fought on my side."

Malfoy said nothing, but she felt him tensing with anger. She pressed on, unaffected.

"I only saw him once," she said vacantly, "on the battlefield. He pushed me away from a Death Eater's curse." She spoke slowly, in remembrance, eyes blank. "He defended me. I never wanted him to die." The fire hissed. Malfoy was silent. "He saved my life," she said in a whisper, "and now you're destroying it."

Malfoy's breath was hot upon her skin. His body was absolutely stiff against hers. She wondered what he was thinking, but the blanket of numbness was so inviting that she didn't contemplate it much. When he failed to react, failed to hit, whip, or humiliate her, she finally allowed her eyes to flutter shut.

What should have been the end of the longest day of her life was awakened seconds later. The Sleeping Potion. Nothing could ever go her way, she thought tiredly. She opened her eyes to find the vial floating in front of her. He'd known, of course, that she'd need it. That's why he hadn't been asleep. Wordlessly, she drank it down, all of it. She was asleep instantly, the empty vial falling from her hand to the bed.

* * *

So that's that. And after some consideration and plot-less bunnies (because this is not a story with much plot), I've written the next chapter already, and it's not an ending chapter. So I guess that means it won't end next time XD

Entropically yours,

Elemental-Analysis


	11. Aftershocks

Okay really fast: I'm sorry I haven't been updating, but hey, life (in the scenario in which school = life) gets in the way. And it's not like this chapter was easy to think up! I have four-count 'em, four-drastically different versions of this chapter on my computer. Anyway, I just survived a really stressful month of hell and in a blind act of ecstatic-ness, I smushed all four versions together and got this mess. Which I serve to you, extra angst on the side, hold the fluff. THE POINT IS that this chapter might not be perfect, hell it might suck, but I needed to get it out, needed to let it go. So, enjoy it or not, here it comes!

Standard disclaimer applies.

This chapter is dedicated to WesternMistress. Thank you.

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Hermione woke to the sound of rustling sheets. She felt the bed shift as Malfoy rose. She lay as still as she could, eyes lightly shut but body tense. She listened as he moved across the floor, heard the swish of his cloak as he dressed. Not daring to move, Hermione remained where she was.

Malfoy stopped moving abruptly, and Hermione held her breath.

"Mudblood."

_No_. Hermione shut her eyes tightly now. For all her intelligence, there was only one word she could think of now. _No. _Her fist clenched the sheets and she felt her stomach drop. Cold dread coiled like a snake in her belly, slithering outward to her toes and fingertips. Unbeknownst to her, her body began to shake under the satin sheets. She heard Malfoy exhale loudly from across the room.

"You have free reign of the room," came his crisp voice, making her jump, "Get out of my bed. I will be back tonight." That was it. She heard the door swing open, then click shut, and then nothing.

Hermione buried her face in the pillow, trying not to breathe, trying to keep her emotions at bay and failing miserably. She was desolate and lonely, beaten and hurt, but most of all she was aching, positively _aching _for some sort of comfort. Which she knew she could never find. And so Hermione cried. She cried until her lungs burned and her chest throbbed. She cried until the sounds of her sobs were drowned out by the blood pounding in her ears. It wasn't fair; none of it was fair.

When she finally calmed from her fit, she pressed her hot eyelids into the sheets one last time to dry them. As she sat up from her pillow, she felt pain lance through her body. She froze and looked down at the satin green sheets that so casually hid her pain. Taking a deep, slow breath, Hermione gingerly lifted the edge of the sheet and pulled it down carefully.

She wasn't gushing blood, wasn't torn up into shreds like she felt she was. There was blood, yes, dark and dried. It was mixed with white and sticky semen that clung to her skin. Malfoy had not even bothered to _Scourgify _her. Her inner thighs were light purple, distinct handprints on her hips. She was extremely tender and sore, but if she was honest with herself, it wasn't the worst pain she had felt from Malfoy. Not physically anyway.

Steeling herself, Hermione hefted first one leg, then the other, over the edge of the bed. It stung, and the bloody mess between her thighs pulled uncomfortably at her skin. She pushed herself up off the bed with her hand and her stump. She felt dazed, mentally distancing herself from her pain. She half-waddled to the bathroom, trying to keep her legs from touching.

She avoided looking in the mirrors; she wasn't sure she could deal with that. She kept her gaze down, focusing intently on filling the tub. She tried not to think about anything. The water came out hot, and she didn't bother to cool it down. She lowered herself into the tub with the water still running, hissing as the heat met her tender flesh. New tears pricked her eyes and she didn't try to fight them back. She deserved to shed every tear she felt, and so let them run freely down her face.

When the tub was nearly overflowing with steaming water, Hermione shut off the nozzle. She grabbed a washcloth and began rubbing herself, starting at the knees and working her way up. It hurt to touch, but she didn't stop; she needed to clean herself, needed to scrape away as much of Malfoy as she could.

She halted when the cloth rubbed against the bloodied semen on her thighs. The gooey mess clung to her skin, congealing and pearling, resisting the scrape of the cloth. It burned and tugged at her abused flesh, and she stared confusedly into the water. More tears fell. This was a cruel joke. The harder she scrubbed, the more it resisted, the more painful it was. She bit her lip, hard.

She pushed through the pain and the anger and scrubbed until the last bit of Malfoy was pulled from her legs. Her skin burned when she was through, and she drained the tub immediately.

She still felt dirty. Despite scrubbing herself to tears, despite the blistering hot water, she was still unclean. She doubted that feeling would ever go away. She lifted herself shakily from the tub and patted herself dry. She wrapped the towel around her body tightly, eyes downcast to avoid the mirrors still.

Hermione felt like the last drop of energy had been drained from her body. She was so tired. She felt lightheaded and dizzy just from lifting her head off the ground. She wondered if she would have enough strength to make it back to her cot. She doubted it.

Well, she had slept on the bathmat before, and she could do it again. She pushed back the nausea that came with conditioned fear and exhaustion and dragged herself the few feet to the rug. She collapsed onto the bathmat and dozed, nightmares disrupting her slumber in fits.

When she finally had the energy to rouse herself again it was late afternoon and there was no doubt in her mind that she needed another bath. She stood slowly, still clad in her towel. A feeling of numbness was starting to come over her again as she mentally withdrew from her world, retreating into a safe, protected corner of her mind. She was just refilling the tub when she heard the familiar, if unwanted, sound of the bedroom door opening. She froze, her hand on her towel and her stump on the tap.

She heard footsteps, _his _footsteps, loud and angry, stalking toward the bathroom. Her breath caught and she swore her heart stopped for a moment. The door opened and she stood there staring at him, unable to think, unable to move. The water flowed freely from the tap, splashing softly in the background.

"We're leaving." His voice was sharp and irritated and, as always, left no room for argument.

Hermione didn't make a move. She was glued in place, mind blanking. Leaving? She gripped the towel tighter in her hand. She breathed shallowly. Malfoy didn't seem to be affected in the least by her lack of clothing. She flinched hard when he grabbed her upper arm and pulled her from the bathroom.

"Get dressed," he told her. No explanation. He released her and she stumbled toward her cot, her arm feeling flash-frozen from his grip. There was a long-sleeved green robe on her pillow. She moved in slow-motion, dragging the dress up her bruised thighs, her aching torso, slipping her sore arms into the sleeves. She tried to avoid looking at her naked skin, but glanced down at herself once the robe was on. It wasn't a particularly flattering robe, nor was it particularly comfortable. It didn't hide her jutting ribs, but it covered up the massacre of scars on her back and the bruises that marred her body everywhere. The fabric scratched at her skin as she emerged from behind the shade.

Malfoy was waiting impatiently. Hermione didn't look at him. She retreated further into her shell of numbness and protection, only flinching slightly this time when Malfoy grabbed her. Then they were apparating, and the scent of fresh air entered Hermione's nose. She was outside. She glanced around carefully from beneath her eyelashes as Malfoy pulled her along. There was a collection of tents, much like last time they had gone out, visible in the waning light.

As she expected, she was put in a tent and told in no uncertain terms that she was to remain there and not attempt to exit. Hermione did not argue, did not move from her place in the tent. She nodded to show her understanding, eyes down. Then, just as before, Malfoy left, sealing the tent flap behind him.

Hermione sat against a tent post with her knees tucked into her torso, arms wrapped around her legs. She stared blankly at the fabric of the tent in front of her for what felt like an eternity. When Malfoy finally returned she was in such a trance that she didn't notice his presence right away, and jumped when he called her name.

Hah. Her name. _Mudblood_.

She moved her head in his directly, blinking slowly, before shifting her aching, stiff body into her kneeling position. There was a moment of silence as Malfoy appraised her form on the ground. She could feel his gaze upon her.

"Nothing to say, Mudblood?" came his cold voice. He was laughing at her, in that way where laughing wasn't actually required. She didn't respond, staring unfocusedly at the ground. She could feel a pebble digging into her palm, and she concentrated on the sensation.

Seeing that he would get no reaction from her, Malfoy continued,

"The meeting is adjourned. We're leaving." He sounded smugly pleased about something, but Hermione couldn't be bothered to be curious.

Though he hadn't directly said it, Hermione stood at the implication of his words. She kept her eyes four inches below his face and a foot to his right, demurely waiting for him to make the first move. When he opened the tent flap and they stepped out, unexpected morning light blinded Hermione. She blinked rapidly, her vision clearing. Had they really been there all night? She sucked in an unsteady breath. The cold morning air nipped at her skin and she shivered, grateful for the long-sleeved robe but wishing for something warmer.

She could sense the movement of other bodies around her. Death Eaters. They were all leaving, she supposed. Had they brought their war captives too? Were there any left alive?

For the first time since two nights ago, Hermione looked directly at her surroundings. She saw a sea of black robes and dark green tents. She couldn't be sure if the flashes of green amongst black they were captives' robes or tents that were being folded away. Beside her, Malfoy was casting his own incantation to fold up the tent. She didn't move until he was finished, returning her eyes to the ground.

"Keep your head down and follow me," came Malfoy's voice in her ear. She could feel his breath on her skin, giving her goose bumps. She shivered.

Malfoy did not hold onto her as he did previously, and she forced herself to walk quickly to keep up with his long strides. Her thighs were aching with the effort, but she didn't dare slow down. Death Eaters' robes brushed up against her lightly as they made their way through the crowd. Hermione hugged her stump to her chest and tried to ignore the murderers that thronged around her.

Malfoy stopped in front of her so abruptly that Hermione almost ran into him. She managed to catch herself at the last moment, feeling her heart spasm at the scene she had almost created. She could just imagine how furious he would be if she actually touched him. She focused on reburying herself in that feeling of nothingness, taking deep breaths through her nose. She allowed her eyes to flutter closed for a moment.

"Avery," she heard Malfoy call out. The tiny gust of wind beside her let her know that Malfoy had stepped away. She opened her eyes slightly and saw he had moved a few feet to her right, greeting his comrade. She stayed where she was, watching, focusing on her breathing. She tried not to bring attention to herself, hugging her arms tighter about her torso. She saw the two men speaking in casual conversation.

"There you are," a voice hissed from behind her, "We meet again." That voice. Hermione felt her stomach plummet. She knew that voice. She felt a shudder run down her spine and fear dripped its way into her stomach. She whirled around.

Jugson. Leering at her.

Memories flooded Hermione's mind, making her nauseous. _The party, in the kitchen. Jugson advancing on her, his hands bruising her skin. Almost being…_

_Oh, god, _was the last sane thought Hermione remembered.

Though he didn't know it, Jugson had become the catalyst for a horrific spiral of emotions for Hermione. Once the memories started, Hermione couldn't stop them. Her breath quickened, shortening until she thought she had stopped breathing altogether. Jugson was saying something to her, but the blood that roared in Hermione's ears drowned him out. She backed away from him as memories of the past days surfaced all at once, shredding the last of her numb protection.

She backed up blindly, the memories blending in a gruesome array of pain and suffering. She couldn't breathe. She felt cold sweat break out on her forehead, her arms, her legs. Nausea overtook her as she flashbacked to beatings, to starvation, to…She doubled over, breath ragged. Scenes flashed. Malfoy raping her, his dominating form overpowering her struggles, ignoring her pleas and tears, destroying Ron's note... She stumbled and reached out as she tumbled backwards, grabbing blindly beside her, gripping something tightly.

Something black. She looked up through her haze of nightmares. Malfoy. She was holding Malfoy's cloak. He looked down at her, an eyebrow raised in amusement. Jugson was still in front of her, moving closer. Hermione did not let go of Malfoy's cloak, resisting instead the sudden urge to bury herself in the only familiar thing around her. The only thing she had. It didn't matter then that he was evil, that he was the source of her pain. He was the last thread of sanity that she could grasp.

The visions came in swarms now, buzzing in her mind, choking her, mixing and blending together in a terrible work of art. She saw that her fist was shaking, and knew the rest of her body must be as well.

She must have looked horrible, for Malfoy's look changed from one of amusement to something she couldn't decipher. _Please_, she begged him with her eyes. She didn't know what she was begging for. Help. Relief. Protection. Mercy. She felt her stomach twist violently and knew she was going to vomit. She heard Malfoy speaking quickly with Avery and Jugson, and though it was probably just seconds, it felt like ages before Malfoy grabbed her and they apparated.

They landed inside of Malfoy's bathroom, and Hermione immediately vomited into the toilet. She remained hunched over the bowl, coughing and spewing spit, bile, and small bits of food into the water. She closed her eyes and tried to breathe. Her vision was spotty, and she gripped the edges of the toilet tightly. She was aware that Malfoy was standing behind her, watching her.

When nothing could come up from her stomach anymore, Hermione's vomiting gave way to coughs, which grew steadily to sobs. She finally let go of the toilet to land on the bathmat, curled in a ball. She heard the toilet flush above her. She shook violently as tears coursed down her face. She could no longer focus on any single memory, and lay there in an agonizing mass of pure emotion, crying and gasping until it physically hurt. She felt her throat closing in, and struggled to breathe.

She didn't know how long she stayed on the bathroom floor, but she guessed it must have been hours, for it felt like days. When she could finally breathe again, it was in slow, shuddering breaths. The room came back into focus slowly. She noticed first the floor, the glaring tile blinding her in the over-lit room. She felt the bathmat underneath her body and the cool side of the tub pressing against her back. She saw the smooth contours of the marble sink and the toilet, and there in the corner—

-was Malfoy, resting languidly against the doorframe, watching her. For however long she'd been here, he had remained as well. She closed her eyes, hoping he was an illusion, but when she opened them again there he was. She looked up at him, hopelessly lost, defeated and afraid.

She had gone to him for-what? Protection? Help? How could she? After everything he had put her through, after everything he'd _done _to her, why had she literally reached out for him?

Because she had nothing else.

She had nothing left, and that was what had sent her over the edge in her panic attack. And now…now she just looked at him from her position on the floor, tears in her eyes that she didn't prevent from spilling over. They slithered down her face, clinging to her skin and dripping into the shell of her ear. Malfoy simply watched her, his face impassive.

"You're all that's left," she whispered. She hadn't meant for him to hear it, she hadn't even meant to say it out loud. But Malfoy smirked at her. He had heard.

"Yes," he answered coldly, "You have nothing left. _Nothing_." His words lanced to her heart and she cringed. "But me. I am the only thing you have in your pathetic life. I control everything you hear, see, smell, touch, think and do. I control you_. _I _own _you."

His words rang true in Hermione's mind, and without knowing it she was nodding her head, slowly and almost imperceptibly. She shivered and curled up on the floor, the truth making her physically withdraw from her reality. Malfoy spoke again, voice cutting through the thick silence,

"Take a bath, Mudblood, you look disgusting." His sharp words made her flinch, and she jumped again as the bathroom door slammed shut behind him as he left. She heard a fainter click of the bedroom door closing. Malfoy was gone.

It took a minute for his command to sink in, and when it did, she found herself complying willingly. She needed a bath. She felt as disgusting as he said. The tub began to fill with a stream of steaming water.

When the bath was ready, Hermione lowered herself slowly into the tub, bracing her elbows on the cold marble sides. She gasped in renewed pain as the heat burned her tender skin, but she did not stop until she was all the way in. Tears leaked from her eyes, though she thought she couldn't possibly have any left. Even when the pain had subsided to a pulsing ache, she didn't stop. She let her tears run down into the water as her body expelled the last of her pent-up emotion. It was so much, too much. Her chest throbbed. Her virginity was gone. Her possessions were gone. Her note was gone. Ron was gone. Her life was gone. She sobbed quietly into her knees.

She felt no better when she could finally stop her tears; she had simply exhausted herself again. She sat very still, watching the ripples in the bathwater fade and disappear until the water, too, was motionless. She braced herself then, reigning in control of her thoughts.

She needed to come to terms with what had happened to her the other night. It was the therapeutic way to overcome trauma. She knew this. Only this time, when she relived those memories, she needed to be in control of herself. She dug her nails into her skin and, breathing deeply, let her mind speak.

_You were raped by Lucius Malfoy__._

The water rippled.

She felt sick again, her stomach rolling. She felt like her stomach might turn inside out. Images of Malfoy leaning over her body forced their way into her mind. She fought against the nausea.

_You were physically and emotionally violated._

She shook, hugging herself tighter. _Malfoy biting and rubbing himself her all over; pushing in and out of her repeatedly, her cries echoing in the room._ Hermione's nails dug into her calves, but her mind wouldn't relent.

_Your last precious possession was taken from you._

Hermione expelled choked, shuddering breaths through a heaving chest_. "Incendio!"… Malfoy grabbing her waist, pinning her down as she fought and screamed…"You chose this, Mudblood..." _

_You had no choice!_ Her mind vehemently rebutted, yanking her from the memory with sudden defiance. _He would have taken what he wanted no matter what you chose._

Hermione clung to those words with desperation. She knew in reality that that was what had happened, but she couldn't help the overpowering feeling of guilt and responsibility. But her logic was never wrong. Never. She needed to listen to it, now more than ever, or she would lose herself. She held onto her words, repeating in her head that she'd _had_ no choice, that it was _not_ her fault. She said it like a mantra.

"It wasn't my fault," she breathed quietly. "It was not my choice." She needed to hear it. "It wasn't my fault. It was not my choice."

None of this was her fault. She _knew _that. Louder, she needed to hear it louder.

"It wasn't my fault. It was not my choice!" She was breathing hard, crying cathartic tears. She raised her eyes to the white ceiling above her.

"It wasn't my fault!" She sobbed, embracing the truth, yelling it to the empty room, convincing herself. "It wasn't my choice!"

Her breast heaved and she slammed her fist hard into the side of the tub, the pain convincing her that this was real, her pain was real, her emotions were real, and the truth was real.

She closed her eyes, breathing through her nose. She counted to herself until her tears stopped, until her body stopped shaking, until the water was once again still. She opened her eyes then, staring hard at the water.

Her mind was strangely blank, refreshingly clear of those horrible memories. The physical pain was still there, the emotions ever-present, but she understood the truth, the reality of what happened, and that tiny peace of mind that gave her was intensely, bizarrely liberating. Such small victory brought such intense relief. Maybe…just maybe, she wasn't broken yet.

She breathed.

The room felt suddenly too bright, the smell of cleaning products, soap and toothpaste too pungent, the silence deafening. Without a second thought, she slid herself under the water, needing to escape for just a moment. The spike of fear at being underwater again was drowned out by the wave of calmness she felt; she was controlling her body right now, not Malfoy, and she had to trust herself not to panic. She blew out a light stream of bubbles from her nose.

The light had extinguished, the scents had vanished, the silence had broken. Water filled her ears with a soft rushing sound. She could hear the bubbles that escaped her mouth floating to the surface of the water. She saw nothing, smelled nothing, felt nothing. It was all so…peaceful. Hermione wished she could stay underwater forever. Though she knew she had to, she had no desire to resurface, to face the world beyond the safety of the water, to deal with all of her problems and screwed up life. She held on as long as she could, until blackness edged at her consciousness and her lungs burned for oxygen.

_Just a little longer, _she pleaded_, until you have to return to hell._

She didn't get the chance to stay under. With a suddenness that shocked her nerves to her very core, she was yanked out of the water by her hair. She sputtered in pain and panic as she was dragged out. She coughed on inhaled water. She couldn't see; soap stung her eyes. She struggled in blind fear against whatever-whoever, was grabbing her. She cried out, left hand scrabbling desperately at the hand that held her, stump rubbing suds away from her eyes. She was pulled completely out of the water and let go, her knees banging painfully into the tub as she stumbled onto the cold marble floor. She blinked away tears and soap as she scuttled between the toilet and sink, crouching against the cold marble. She was completely naked and defenseless against whoever was there.

Black shoes. That was the first thing she saw. Black shoes and black robes. Malfoy was towering over her once more, huge and intimidating. She curled tighter into her ball, feeling absolutely vulnerable as she sat naked before him. Whatever liberation she had earned from her revelation was completely outweighed by what she felt now. Embarrassment and shame fought with confusion and fear for reigning emotions. Her shivers had little to do with the cold room, and goose bumps began prickling her skin, making her shake harder.

"What the hell were you doing?" Malfoy all but snarled at her. He was so angry with her, and she had no idea why. She quaked at his voice, pressing her body against the sink. Before she could answer, he continued, "I've told you so many times, Mudblood, that you are mine to own, and you will live and _die_," he seethed the word venomously, "only by my permission."

Hermione opened her mouth to respond, taken aback. His meaning registered. He thought she was going to kill herself? The thought…well, it had crossed her mind before this, but she wouldn't attempt it. Shad just wanted…a moment. To herself. Away from here. Desolate and despaired she was, pathetic enough to kill herself she was not. She was too Gryffindor for that. Her protest died on her lips as the sharp sting of the whip lashed her back. She cried out, half in pain and half in surprise. Malfoy continued his tirade.

"To think that you would try," he punctuated with another slash of the whip, "to end your life without my knowing…" he whipped her twice more, "You stupid Mudblood," the blows fell on her back like murderous rain, and she screamed. "Thinking you could escape me."

He beat her until her vision went hazy, until she begged and pleaded with him to stop, until her voice died on her lips. The pain was overwhelming. When he finally quit, her ears roared so loudly with blood that she almost missed what he was saying to her. He had never beaten her so soundly before.

"Apologize, Mudblood," that cruel voice demanded, "for trying to take what was mine to give." He stood unwavering above her. She was bent up on her knees, bloody back bared to him, forehead pressed to the ground. Her arms she held behind her neck, a feeble attempt at protection. Her body shook with pain-racked sobs. She licked parched lips. She was sure if she moved she would faint. Malfoy stirred in incensed impatience. She tried to catch her breath long enough to speak.

"I w-wasn't trying to…" her whisper trailed off as she fought against the pain. Her vision disappeared entirely for a second.

"What was that, Mudblood?" Malfoy asked, his harsh, snide voice cutting her deeper. Hermione flinched and tried again.

"I wasn't trying to...to kill myself," she rasped through her tears, "Please…I w-was only taking…a bath. Please," she whispered brokenly, "Please stop."

There was absolute silence. The minute stretched into hours for Hermione. She suddenly felt a sharp probe in her mind and knew he was _Legilimizing_ her. She let him; she was too weak, too emotionally overwhelmed to stop it, and it was only the truth. The feeling stopped abruptly a moment later. Then, without a word, Malfoy turned and stormed out of the bathroom, leaving her on the floor. He slammed the door, trapping Hermione once again in her stone prison. Hermione cried quietly when he left, her energy drained. She stayed hunched between the sink and the toilet, her naked body dripping tears and blood onto the marble floor. Her cries echoed softly in the empty bathroom.

She couldn't move. She was paralyzed with pain, with anger, with desolation, with shame. With pure exhaustion. The emotional, not to mention physical, strain was absolutely crushing her. She shivered on the floor, vacantly wishing for a towel, wishing for a blanket, wishing for her bed in Gryffindor tower. Wishing…

_Wishes will get you no place_, her mind chastised feebly, encouraging her to get up. But Hermione still couldn't bring herself to deal with her new wounds, which would be the logical course of action. She just couldn't.

She flinched at the pop that sounded suddenly to her right. She didn't need to look up to know the sound of a house elf appearing.

"Smidgey," she whispered, head still pressed to the floor, "What are you doing here?" She felt dizzy. Her vision was fading in and out again, and she knew she wasn't going to last much longer. She heard the elf shift nervously from foot to foot.

"I is not to speak with Miss," Smidgey said agitatedly, "I is only to fix her and leave quickly," he stated, clearly quoting his master. Hermione didn't respond, just closed her eyes. In grateful appreciation, she allowed Smidgey to tend to her back, his deft hands fluttering lightly over her. She felt the wounds scab over, felt the pain lessen if only marginally. When he was finished, he hesitated. With a snap of his fingers she was in her green dress. Before she could contemplate that, he'd disappeared.

Hermione was aware of very little at that moment. She knew she was in pain. She knew she was starving. She knew she was on the verge of consciousness. But mostly, she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she was irreparably, irrevocably broken.

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I _know _what you're thinking. Hermione cries a lot. Wouldn't you?

Anyway, I know I've said this before, but I'm _pretty _sure that the next chapter will be the last. It might not go up for awhile though. Sooo review? If you're going to tell me that it was a disjointed emotional mess, that's fine, but I accepted that fate of this chapter already. I mean, three months of agonizing and I couldn't fix it D:

Entropically yours,

Elemental-Analysis


	12. Saved

This is it! The final chapter of Entropy. I'm a little sad that it's done, but mostly I'm excited. Who knows where I'll go from here? Anyway, enjoy, and thank you for sticking with the story! It's been fun.

I _may_ have made up some trivial information not actually found in the HP books to suit my needs for this chapter.

Standard disclaimer applies.

* * *

Hermione didn't recognize that she was sick right away. She had been laying on the bathmat for over a day and a half, not moving unless she needed to use the toilet. She could feel the stomach acid eating away slowly at her intestinal linings, could hear the roaring of her stomach and the aching of her limbs and skin, and yet she did nothing to ease her aches and pains. And Malfoy hadn't returned since his dramatic departure.

Of course he wouldn't. What would he care, after all?

But Hermione felt it on the second morning, a new pain that radiated from her body. It was the itching chill in her chest whenever she breathed too deeply, the soft hissing of air from her throat as she exhaled. It was the sharp twinges in her eardrums, the steady pounding in her head. It was the shivers that accompanied her sweating; yes, it was sickness that Hermione finally recognized on the second morning.

She couldn't bother herself to deal with it. She didn't want to own her body anymore. It hurt too much. She retreated further into her mind, trying valiantly to ignore the calls that begged for relief.

It was only hours later when her coughs caused her back to slam so violently into the tile that she cried out with a sob and emerged from her protective shell. She couldn't ignore it anymore. Slowly, painfully, she dragged herself up and out of the bathroom. She opened the door with a shaky hand. The bedroom before her spun in a dizzying array of greens and browns, and she fell down onto the carpet. She steadied herself on her knees, her hand braced against the doorframe. She waited for the carpet to come into focus beneath her. She was shaking, sweat pouring from her forehead in a nauseating mixture of distant fear and sickness. Somewhere, in that sea of brown and green, there had been a very distinctive blonde head.

He was here. She knew he was here. She recognized the fear that constricted her already tight throat, but she refused to acknowledge the emotion.

She wasn't sure what to do. Instinct was to run and hide. Reality told her she didn't have the energy or the will to do so. So she would wait. She would wait for him to move first. She lowered her hand from the doorframe, falling forward on her stump and flexed palm. Waiting.

She could hear her breath, ragged and short. She felt the scabs on her back stretch and pull and her muscles scream from abuse. She felt her legs cramping from not moving for days. She felt her heart pounding in her chest and her pulse thudding in her ears.

There was silence as she waited, the tension thick in the air. She knew that he could sense her uncertainty, that he was probably reveling in it. She just wanted her cot. She just wanted to lie down. She just wanted…

A rattling cough erupted from her chest in an excruciating breath. She lost her balance and fell forward, her head hitting the rug, turning her neck up at an awkward angle. Tears leaked from her eyes as she felt scabs splitting open at the edges; waiting, praying desperately for it to stop. She shut her eyes tightly.

When she could breathe again it was in shaky, shallow gulps. She opened her eyes, seeing the triangles of wet lashes protruding from her eyelids. Just as she registered that there were black boots in front of her, a familiar magical force was dragging her upwards. She let her head sag in agonized defeat. She hovered motionless for a moment before she felt the tug at her chin. She didn't resist, and was then looking directly into the eyes of her captor. Her torturer. Her world.

Malfoy's gaze was intense and unyielding, looking over her like she was a specimen under a magnifying glass. She stared back at him, her eyes dead and unfeeling but her body shivering uncontrollably.

He continued to look her over, appraising her body thoughtfully. There was a look on his face she couldn't describe. She hadn't seen that look…not in a long, long time. What was it? She couldn't remember. Hermione finally averted his gaze, not caring. Not even trying to care. She held completely limp as he levitated her across the room.

She didn't think anything of it as he laid her down on her cot; it didn't register with her that he pulled the thin sheets over her. The scant warmth that encased her body chased away some of her shudders, and she closed her eyes, ignoring the fact that he stood over her, that he never broke his gaze from her still form.

Hermione spent the next few days tossing uncomfortably on her cot; for reasons she couldn't understand and wouldn't fathom, Malfoy had taken pity on her and allowed Smidgey to feed her soup and porridge. But still she felt herself growing worse, her coughs growing more violent and prolonged. She soaked through her bed sheets with sweat. Her fever climbed higher.

Hermione felt these things happen to her, felt the constant pain coursing through her body, but she didn't really _feel _it. She wasn't connected to it. She was aware that she was hurting physically, but mentally she felt nothing. She simply accepted the pain.

On the third day she awoke to a different set of black robes in front of her. They were older, more worn, and smelled of spiced herbs. Through her daze it registered that Malfoy wasn't here. Or at least not in front of her. Not like he had been these past few days. This person had their back to her, but though she couldn't see his face, she knew it was Snape. She struggled to keep her eyes open, a losing battle.

Snape turned back towards her, his eyes alighting on her face.

"Miss Granger," he murmured. He didn't say anything else. Hermione didn't answer him, simply watching him. She saw him lift up her covers, and she shivered at the impact of cool air against her flesh. She didn't feel embarrassed, didn't even flinch, when he removed her dress and put his hands on her, assessing her body from head to toe. He rolled her onto her side and she felt his cool fingers probe gingerly at her scabs, most of which were rapidly fading to ugly scars, but a few of which still bled sluggishly. A sweaty lock of hair fell into her eye and she blinked it away. She allowed him to lay her back down again and redress her. He pulled the covers up to her chin, brushing the stray hair away from her face. Hermione felt a jolt of emotion when he touched her cheek, but she ignored it determinedly, staring past him into the distance.

Snape disappeared from her sight then, behind her shade. She caught bits and pieces of conversation, recognizing Malfoy's voice as well and tensing involuntarily.

"Physically…." The words faded in and out. "And _mentally_, Lucius…" She heard Malfoy growl in response as they continued to talk in heated, hushed tones. The low hum of male voices lulled her to sleep.

* * *

She woke up later not recognizing her surroundings. She was not on her cot. She was not in Malfoy's room. She struggled to roll to her side. The bed she was on was comfortable, though simple. A squashy comforter was pulled up to her shoulders.

The room was mostly empty otherwise, a nightstand beside her. A mortar and pestle sat on the nightstand next to several vials, two flasks and a white porcelain bowl. Her eyes shifted around the rest of the room. It was small, plain wooden floorboards and unpainted walls. A doorway was on the wall opposite her. Her bed was pushed against the far wall, a window just above it.

Hermione rolled back over, staring blankly at the ceiling. She wondered vaguely where she was, but a particularly painful coughing fit interrupted her train of thought, reducing her to tears. She pulled the fluffy covers up over her head and tried not to breathe, tried not to exist. But eventually she had to take a breath, and as she inhaled deeply, she smelled it. Spiced herbs. Was she at Snape's house? She exhaled and breathed in the familiar scent again. She shivered, though her body felt as though it were on fire.

She drew back the comforter after about five minutes. She jumped when she saw Snape himself in front of her bed. She had not heard him enter. Seeing her awake, Snape greeted her.

"Miss Granger," he said, voice neutral, "You are in my home," he said by way of explanation. When that garnered no reaction from her, he continued, "I did not have the supplies necessary to treat you at Malfoy Manor, so I convinced Lucius to let me bring you here." His explanation finished, he closed his mouth and looked down at her, an eyebrow raised as if he expected something from her. Hermione just stared blankly at him. Snape's eyes narrowed.

"Has Lucius finally shut up the Know-It-All Gryffindor Princess?"

His sneer died on his lips as he watched her expression.

Her mask faltered slightly at his words. Had Snape not been one for intricate detail, had he not had years of practice reading people's faces, he might have missed it. The tiny tics and pulls at the corners of her eyes, the slight tightening of her lips. Her emotions screamed at him, even if she couldn't, wouldn't , feel them herself.

Sadness. Grief. Pain. Desolation. And above all, fear. His expression softened, if only slightly.

"I will not hurt you, Miss Granger," he told her slowly, looking directly into her eyes. She flinched and looked away. He continued, "You are only here for my help." He stressed the word, watching her closely, "Lucius is not here."

Hermione refused to trust him. How could she? Trust had been eradicated from her life for the past two months. She turned her head into the pillow, keeping one eye trained on the outline of his robes. Just in case.

At that moment, she coughed again, and struggled for a few minutes to breathe, nearly suffocating on the pillow. When she had control of herself again, she felt something cool and made of glass pressing against her lips. She inhaled the scent of lavender and mint, and recognized it as a particularly potent mixture of Calming Draught and Cough Potion. Upon recognition, she relaxed her lips, the liquid streaming down her throat in cooling waves. A Fever and Pain Reducer followed, burning in her throat and her belly. She relaxed against the pillow as Snape finished with her, and closed her eyes. As she drifted off to sleep she realized for the first time that nightmares hadn't been plaguing her almost a week, not since Malfoy had...

But then again, how could you have nightmares if you couldn't feel anything anymore?

The next few days were a blur to Hermione. Snape came every evening with more medicine for her. But despite the Fever Reducers, the Calming Draughts and Cough Potions, her body simply would not heal itself. She had mentally given up, and her body could no longer handle the stress on its own. Slowly, she was breaking down, dying. She knew she was. She could only wait it out.

At least Malfoy wasn't here.

At least she wasn't starving and bleeding and freezing and sick and dying all at the same time anymore.

On her sixth day at Snape Manor, her professor entered the room earlier than he normally did, quietly shutting the door behind him, facing her but not moving. He seemed somber, more so than usual, and he lacked his normal sneer of displeasure. Hermione watched him fixedly, the only indication that revealed her curiosity.

Finally, with a sigh, Snape approached her, sitting on the edge of her bed, just looking at her for awhile, as if waiting for her to say something. She did not. He was holding a flask tightly in one calloused hand. He ran the other through his thinning black hair, turning to face the window.

"Miss Granger," he started, and then sighed again, looking directly at her now. "I am not a healer," he stated, frowning, "I am most likely the best potions brewer in the Wizarding World, but a healer I am not. There is only so much I can do."

His gaze turned intense, and Hermione's face grew puzzled in response. He continued, "This…illness...of yours…you may or may not ever recover from it. And I believe that mentally...you will _never _recover from what you have been through."

Snape ran a hand through his hair again, a troubled look on his face. "I also believe that on some level you do not even want your body to heal…that you, too, are also aware that you will not recover. Am I correct?"

Hermione did not respond, but her agreement showed on her face. She felt her heart rate increase slightly. What was he saying? Snape exhaled through his nose, and Hermione watched him intently.

"Lucius has demanded your return by tomorrow morning."

Hermione lost her breath for a moment, causing her to cough loudly. Snape waited until she regained stability before he continued, "However…" he trailed off, lost in thought for a long, drawn out moment, "I believe you have suffered enough, Hermione," he said softly, "I am offering you a second option." His black eyes bored into hers, a conflicted look in them.

He released the tight grip on the flask so she could see its contents.

"I believe you are familiar with this particular potion, Hermione," Snape said quietly. Hermione's eyes widened. Of course she knew that potion. How could she forget it? The bright orange liquid sloshed in its container; it had been one of the poisons on the table when she and Harry had almost reached the Sorcerer's Stone. One that she had identified as a poison. She looked at him disbelievingly. He continued his explanation, unhurried,

"This is a _choice_, Hermione," he reiterated, "I am not forcing you to drink this. I am merely giving you the option. It will kill you painlessly, and there will be no trace left of it if you were to be examined post-mortem. It would make it appear as if you had died of natural causes." He took a breath. "Again, an option." His tone was completely serious, not a trace of emotion evident.

An option? Death or...or Malfoy. Hermione hesitated, realizing she would have to give an answer. Wasn't she stronger than this? Wasn't she too Gryffindor to take the Slytherin way out?

No, she realized. She wasn't a Gryffindor anymore. She was a broken little Mudblood girl with nothing left in her future but pain and suffering and loneliness. She didn't have to be brave.

She decided.

Hermione reached out her hand toward Snape. He handed her the flask silently, something like regret passing over his features briefly before he composed himself. She held it in her lap, staring down at it.

Snape stood to leave, but Hermione's hand snaked out of its own accord and latched onto his robe. He turned around, surprised. She looked at him pleadingly, balancing the potion precariously on her lap with her stump.

"Stay," she whispered, almost inaudibly, "Please." She sounded almost desperate. Snape sank back down on the bed, hands folded in his lap. She released him.

Hermione fingered the rim of the flask for a long moment. Was there anything she wanted to say, anything she needed to hear before she…before she…

"Where's Ginny?" she asked. It came out in a slurred rush, her voice hoarse and cracking. Snape raised an eyebrow at her.

"Gone," he said dismissively. If he was surprised at her sudden ability to speak, he didn't show it. "I traded her to Antonin Dolohov," he elaborated vaguely, in that moment reminding Hermione swiftly and painfully that he was very much a Death Eater. He was not a savior. He was not her friend and he was not her rescuer.

Hermione gave a short nod of understanding. That was how her world worked, now.

She raised the flask up, staring into its contents. Her hand started to shake violently, and she felt her chest constricting, despite herself. Her breath shortened as she started to hyperventilate. Her vision was losing focus, the orange liquid a blurry mass in front of her. Tears pricked her eyes as she fought not to spill the potion in her trembling hand. She couldn't bring it closer.

Warm fingers wrapped around hers, steadying her grip. She looked up to Snape through tear-filled eyes.

"It's all right," he whispered. He brought a hand behind her head, the other still secure about her hand. He lifted the flask to her lips. She parted them compliantly, closing her eyes tightly as she felt the rush of cold liquid slide down her throat, the tears falling from her lashes.

The breath was gone from her lips before he laid her head to the pillow. Snape looked out of the window, far off into the distance for a moment, before rising and exiting the room. The door closed behind him with a quiet _click._

* * *

_Two months later_

Lucius sat in the leather armchair, staring into the fire. The flames danced against the stone of the fireplace as the wood hissed and popped. A half-full glass of wine rested on the end table beside him. The rest of the room was dark and silent.

Lucius turned the smooth wood in his hands, absently running his fingers down to the knotted handle of the wand.

Ten and three-quarters inches, vine wood.

It was all that remained of _her_. Physically, it was the only thing left that gave a clue she ever existed in the Wizarding World.

And yet she was still there, still impossibly, intangibly there. She was always in his mind, haunting him, torturing him.

His grip tightened around the wood and his eyes narrowed.

When had things gotten so out of hand? When had he become so irrational? He was never supposed to lose control. _Never_. He was never supposed to almost drown her in those first few days. He was never supposed to let her out of that godforsaken bathroom. He was never supposed to mark her twice as his. He was never supposed to fuck her. He was never supposed to beat her within an inch of her life. He was never supposed to _feel_.

And yet he had felt. He'd felt such anger, such resentment, such _jealousy_ towards her that he'd lost control. So many times. What she _did _to him-her defiance of him was more than he could take, making him doubt himself-and she paid for it until it killed her.

And at what cost to him?

He relinquished his grip on the wand and sipped his wine. She was supposed to have died the night of Potter's death. Why didn't he kill her?

The image of her broken, beaten body entered his mind, her dull eyes staring emptily up at him. Why wouldn't she leave? She meant nothing to him. Nothing. He returned the wine to its stand. His hands returned to her wand.

She was merely paying for the crimes against and the death of his son, he convinced himself. She had deserved everything he had put her through-it was just punishment and due vengeance. Wasn't it?

The wand in his hands snapped in half. His eyes flicked down to it. Dragon heartstring.

Would he ever regain control of himself? He looked at the shattered remains of wood. Damn her! Damn her and her insufferable cries, her pathetic pleas, her treacherous face. Damn her to all levels of Hell.

He threw the broken wand into the flames with a flourish. The fire roared with a purple hue as it ate away slowly at the wood.

He had only been avenging his son. She had been the most appropriate means to the end of his grief. He had been justified in his actions.

Yes, he repeated to himself determinedly, she deserved what he did to her. He had been _justified_. He stared into the fire until her wand was nothing but charred wood and ash, until the fire burned down to glowing embers.

Yes, he had been justified.

He sipped again from his goblet.

Hadn't he?

* * *

Well, I hope you had fun! I certainly did.

Fun Facts you may or may not be interested in knowing:  
-This was supposed to be a romance fic  
-There was supposed to be a happy ending  
-I used to write solely comedy/humor fics  
-No, I won't be retelling the story from either Snape's, Ginny's, or Malfoy's point of view

Thank you for reading!

Entropically yours,  
Elemental-Analysis


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